


Pain, Will You Return It?

by shocked_into_shame



Series: Pain, Will You Return It? [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Child Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, First Time, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, a fic in which billy gets the help he needs and becomes a not shitty person, billy swears a lot, eventual harringrove, i'll add tags as i go, just kidding DEFINITELY some smut at some point, maybe some smut at some point, not a billy apologist fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 32,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/shocked_into_shame
Summary: When Billy gets beaten to a literal pulp by his dad, the police get involved. Billy has to come to terms with what he has done to those around him.He doesn't want to be like his dad.Especially when he sees Steve Harrington. When he sees Steve, he wants to be good.





	1. Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> I want to explore Billy and get him some damn help, y'all. I want him to become a better person. And I want Steve to love him forever.  
> TW for this fic: I will be talking about abuse, PTSD, and other traumatic experiences. If that kind of stuff bothers you, I wouldn't read it.  
> The title of the fic is taken from Strangelove by Depeche Mode, even though that song came out after all this is taking place. Oops.

_Sometimes, Billy has nightmares. They’re not all that bad; it’s not like he wakes up crying like some bitch or anything. Billy can handle a little bad dream. He’s not a pussy._

_But this dream – this is the worst nightmare Billy has had in God knows how long. He’s running, running, running, somewhere he doesn’t know, away from something that he can’t recognize. He keeps whipping his head around to try to get a glimpse of whatever is on his tail, but it’s too damn dark wherever he is and he can’t fucking see anything. But even though he doesn’t know what’s chasing him, what they look like or what they want from him, he’s fucking terrified._

_And then the ground is slipping out from underneath his feet and, shit, he’s just run off a fucking cliff or something. He reaches up and clutches onto the edge, willing himself not to look down at whatever depths are currently below his dangling feet. He’s strong, sure, but his arms feel like spaghetti as he struggles to hold himself up._

_“Help!” he cries out, throwing his head back, and shit, those are tears streaming down his face. “Someone fucking help me! I’m gonna die!”_

_But he knows. He knows that no one is going to help him. Why would they? He deserves this. No one is going to save him._

_His fingers are slipping, and he’s about to fall, but then, there’s a hand – a glorious, glorious hand, grabbing his arm. Whoever it is has a firm grip on him, but Billy can’t see him through the darkness and the fog._

_Until the figure leans forward, and… “Harrington?”_

_Steve smiles, but it doesn’t look like Steve. Steve wouldn’t smile like that. This can’t be Steve._

_“Pull me up! Please, just fucking pull me up!”_

_Steve snarls and bites out, “Fuck you.”_

_And then he lets go._

* * *

 

Billy startles awake, and his heart is racing in his chest. Shit. He doesn’t know why that dream shook him up so bad, but he’s still shaking a little as he gets in the shower, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed.

“Cmon, Max, hurry the fuck up!” he shouts, stepping out of the front door and walking to his car. It's chilly as fuck outside, and he misses the warmth of the California sun. God, he needs a fucking cigarette. Shakily, he pulls his lighter out of his jacket pocket and puts a cig in his mouth, lighting it quickly.

He relaxes a little as he breathes in the tobacco, feeling instant relief thanks to the menthol comfort of a cigarette. When he sees the red-headed little punk coming out of the front door, he gets into the Camaro and starts it. God, he loves that, loves the sound and the rumble of his trusty car beneath him. With a smoke in his mouth and the steering wheel under his fingers, nothing fucking matters.

Max opens the passenger-side door, dumping her ratty-ass backpack in front of the seat before climbing into the car. Billy doesn’t even wait for her to buckle her seatbelt – he just drives.

“Are you…” Max starts, tentatively, like she’s not sure if she’s going to get punched for talking this early in the morning. “Are you okay? I heard you this morning.”

Blue eyes narrow as Billy sends a glare in her direction. “Heard me doing what?”

“Billy, you were _screaming_. You literally screamed for help. I was knocking on your door but you didn’t answer it.”

Shit. He doesn’t want to talk about this with Max, not now, especially this early in the morning, and not ever. “Fuck off,” he mutters before turning on the radio and turning up the volume dial, blasting whatever is on. It’s some synth pop song he doesn't even like, but anything is better than having to talk to Max about this shit. The red-headed girl crosses her arms in her seat, clearly angry that Billy isn’t talking to her about it. What-fucking-ever.

When they make it to Hawkins Middle, Max gets out of the car, but not before reminding Billy that he needs to pick her up at 4:30 after AV club.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t I pick you up every day?”

After he’s dropped her off, Billy decides he doesn’t feel like going to school. Now that he really considers it, he’s fucking exhausted, so he decides to crash once he gets home. The second his head hits the pillow, he’s out.

* * *

 

When he wakes up, thankfully after a sleep without any crazy-ass nightmares, he wipes some drool off the side of his face and sits up, stretching. It’s dark as hell in his room. Did he sleep all day? He looks at his alarm clock and, sure enough, its 8 PM. Damn.

And then it dawns on him. 8 PM. He fucking forgot to pick up Max.

When he gets up and opens his bedroom door, he expects Max to ream him a new one for forgetting to pick her up. What he doesn’t expect is to see his dad sitting at the kitchen table with Max at his side.

“Forget something, son?”

Billy feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “I’m sorry,” he says, as sheepishly as he can muster. “I barely got any sleep last night, and I ended up crashing all day. I didn’t mean to.”

“So, not only did you forget to pick up your sister, you also skipped school?”

Shit. “I didn’t have anything due today or anything, it’s fine..”

“No, it’s not fine. Do you know that Max had to call Susan and Susan had to _leave work_ to go get her? Do you think that’s acceptable?”

“Dad, I already told you that I’m sorry,” he says, probably with a more attitude than he meant to.  

Neil stands up, and Billy can tell that he’s fucked up good this time. He isn’t surprised when the first punch is thrown, but maybe he is a little surprised by the force of it. And then he’s definitely fucking surprised when the punches don’t stop. A hit to his face, his stomach, all fucking over, and the world is teetering, and he’s falling to the floor; he can’t support his weight anymore.

On his way down, he notices that Max has backed herself up against the wall, and she’s pressed a hand over her mouth, her face white as a ghost.

That’s right, Billy thinks, as the kicks start. Max has never seen this shit happen before. Neil has always had the sense not to do this in front of her, but apparently that’s out the window. Billy doesn’t know why he’s so mad about this, such a stupid thing, but Neil doesn’t stop kicking him, over and over. A solid kick to his chest causes the breath to whoosh out of Billy and, crap, he might actually die like this. He can’t fucking breathe; his dad has fucked up something in his chest. A kick to his fucking _head_ starts making the world spin, but he can still understand when his dad says, “Stop crying like a faggot.”

Is he crying? Is any of this even happening? His vision is blurring, he can’t breathe, and he knows he’s going to fucking die like this. Maybe he deserves it.

And then he hears police sirens. The beating stops, and he finally succumbs to the darkness and loses consciousness.


	2. Dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read and commented on the first chapter of this story! I was so inspired by the response that I wrote chapter two on the same day. 
> 
> I just want to say that I don't have any personal experience with abuse or trauma. But I've looked into symptoms of PTSD, particularly hyperarousal, and this is my own interpretation of what exactly is going on in Billy's head as a result. If anyone is insulted by my interpretation, then I sincerely apologize. 
> 
> I also want to take this moment to say that if you are reading this fic because you see potential in Billy as a character or Harringrove as a ship, you are not a bad person at all, like some want you to believe. Not many people are truly irredeemable, and it's silly to think that people can't change. Believing that people are irredeemable, that once you've made a mistake you can never recover from it, is backwards, counter-productive thinking. Almost everyone deserves a second chance if they are sincerely apologetic and are working to be a better person. 
> 
> Okay! I'll get off my soapbox now!! Please enjoy this chapter, and if you like it please leave kudos/comments. I love the feedback.

A concussion. A dislocated jaw. A bruised sternum.

Apparently, that’s what is _exactly_ wrong with him. When Billy wakes up in a hospital bed, groggy and sore all over, he doesn’t even really notice specific areas of pain. His whole body hurts.

When he opens his eyes the first thing he sees is Max’s concerned face. It seems like she wants to say something to Billy but changes her mind about it, instead opting to go get the doctor and let them know he’s awake

The doctor tells Billy that if the blunt force trauma to his chest had continued he could have easily suffered a broken rib or worse, a collapsed lung. A couple more blows to his head could have caused serious brain damage. That’s exactly what Billy wants to fucking hear.

Apparently the panic is clear on his face as the doctor leaves because Max sits in the chair near his bed and, delicately, more delicately than Billy probably deserves, explains, “I called Chief Hopper. Neil’s in police custody right now.”

“You’re the one who called the cops?” Billy asks, and _shit_ , that’s the first thing he’s said since he woke up and his voice doesn’t sound like his own. Max notices it, obviously, because she’s grabbing a bottle of water from her backpack and shoving it in Billy’s face. He appreciates it, but he doesn’t thank her for it.

“Yeah, I called the cops. Was that the first time he’s hit you?”

Billy scoffs and rolls his eyes. “What the fuck do you think?”

Max looks down in her lap. “Did he start after we moved to Indiana?”

“Kid,” Billy gulps down the last of the water and continues, “Neil’s been hitting me since before you were born.”

At first, Max seems to accept that, but then it dawns on her – “Billy, you were _four_ when I was born. He’s been hitting you since you were _four?”_

Billy just shrugs. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this with her. She doesn’t need to know about it. No one fucking needs to hear about this shit. Billy’s the only one that Neil ever hits, so it’s not like it matters anyway.

But he’s got to admit, if only to himself, that this is the worst beating he’s got in a long time. In terms of shock value alone, Billy hasn’t felt this blind-sided by a beating since that time in fourth grade when his dad hit him in the arm with a baseball bat _on accident_ and broke his arm.

Max may be annoying as fuck sometimes, but at least she knows when it’s time to shut up about something. Thank God for at least that.

Billy stares up at the crappy popcorn ceiling of the hospital room, palms itching. He wants a cigarette so damn bad, but he guesses that maybe, just maybe, the hospital won’t approve of him smoking in here. To keep his mind off of it he tries to count the little nubs in the ceiling, but he loses track at 30 and gets pissed off as hell.

The blonde doesn’t look away from the ceiling until he hears a quiet – but firm –knock on his door.

“How you doing, Hargrove?” Chief Hopper asks, walking into the room and standing at Billy’s side. Max has got that wide-eyed look on her face that she typically reserves for when Billy’s going off the handle.

“Alive, I guess,” Billy responds and he tries, he _tries_ to keep the bite and the anger out of his words but it doesn’t work. It never fucking works. He can’t help but be so mad at all of these fucking people who ask him how he’s doing, ask him if he feels okay, because _shit_ he’s been dealing with this his whole damn life. He doesn’t need any pity from anybody. “Could use a cigarette, though.”

“Fair enough,” Hopper responds with a slight chuckle. “Listen, kid. I don’t appreciate what you’ve been doing since you moved here. Beating on a group of middle-schoolers, beating up Steve Harrington – yeah, I know about that – but I want you to know that anything comes up, anything at all, my door is open.”

Billy fights everything inside him not to roll his eyes, but he loses that fight. “Right.”

Hopper doesn’t look amused. “We know what your dad’s been doing to you. And trust me, I am sorry for that. But you’ve gotta fix whatever issues you’ve got going on here,” Hopper says, gesturing loosely toward Billy. “Your dad is in a jail cell right now. Your mom is down at the courthouse now, taking care of shit. Your dad won’t be welcome home.”

“She’s not my mom!” Billy roars. God, screaming hurts his chest like hell and he begins to panic. He can’t fucking stick up for himself from this damn bed; he can’t move, he can’t fight, he can’t even fucking scream without wincing like a little bitch.

“Step-mom, then. Like I said, Hargrove, you got a lot of stuff going on. I think you should see a school counselor or something, talk it out.”

“Right, okay,” Billy responds, shaking his head. He makes eye contact with the sheriff and holds it. “Never going to happen.”

Hopper’s eyebrows raise and he shakes his head. “Never say never, kid,” he says gruffly, before turning and walking out of the room.

* * *

 

When Billy returns to school the next week, after finally getting the okay from the doctor that his jaw’s been popped back into place and his head is okay enough that he’s not going to pass out behind the wheel or some shit, he feels eyes on him the second he gets out of his car. And not in the good way, the way he’s come to expect. The girls aren’t staring at him with smiles on their faces, ogling him – no, now they are frowning in his direction, looking at him with such fucking fake-ass pity on their faces.

His teachers don’t know what to fucking do with him. They never liked him before, of course, _why would they?_ But now they give him this look, like he’s Jesus Christ back from the dead or some shit.

All these people couldn’t stand him before, and the second they find out that his old man’s been beating him, well, then… Isn’t Billy such a poor thing?

His friends – well, the people around him as close to friends as he can get, Tommy and the rest of the basketball team and shit – don’t know what to do with him either. They won’t even make eye contact with him in the hallway.

He hates it.

He knew that the information would have made its way around eventually, but he doesn’t expect to come into school and immediately have everyone know about it. Guess word travels fast in a dumb little hick town like Hawkins.

* * *

 

When the day is finally over, he drives over to Max’s school to wait for her to get out of AV club. It’s relieving, almost, to know that if he didn’t show up to pick her up there’d be no consequences at all for it. Lord knows Susan isn’t going to lay a hand on him. But Billy doesn’t want to completely desert Max. At least she called the cops. If it weren’t for her, he might be dead right now.

He parks his car in the Hawkins Middle lot, popping in a Metallica tape and blasting it. At about 4:15 his legs start to get stiff, so he gets out of the car and leans against the side, lighting a cigarette and taking a slow drag.

He’s almost relaxed, for a second, until a car drives up and parks beside his. And, sure enough, Steve fucking Harrington is getting out of the car, walking up to Billy with an unreadable expression on his face. Billy thought he’d avoided him today, but apparently he’s not so lucky.

Billy surveys Harrington with a critical stare. He’s got on a thick, long coat that Billy’s never seen before, his hair perfect as always. Billy can’t help but remember his dream, and has to remind himself that that wasn’t actually Steve, that Steve didn’t actually let him fall to his death.

“What’s up, pretty boy?” Billy quips, not bothering to take the cigarette out of his mouth.

“Should you be smoking?” Steve asks, hands in his pockets. “Is that good for, y’know, recovery and all that shit?”

“Recovery?” Billy asks, dumbfounded. “Does smoking have anything to do with concussions? Doctor never said anything about that.” Steve looks at the ground, and Billy’s surprised a little at that. “What, don’t have anything smart to say, princess?”

“Listen, I’m really sorry about everything.”

“What the fuck do you have to be sorry for?” There it is. Anger bubbling up in Billy’s stomach, just like at school, but different, somehow. It’s less that he’s mad about it, but more like he’s _ashamed_. He doesn’t know why Steve’s opinion matters so much, but Billy really doesn’t want to see that look of pity all over Harrington’s face.

“I just… I had no idea. About your dad. If I had known, I would have…”

“Would have what?” Billy snarls, throwing his cigarette onto the ground and stomping it out. He crowds into Steve’s space, staring into his brown eyes. “Would have told a teacher or some shit? Would have pitied me, not fought with me that night at the Byers’? Would treat me differently? Pretend to like me?” Billy’s going _off_ ; it’s fucking happening and no one can stop it. Rage and shame is boiling and he doesn’t know if he wants to run or scream or cry or _what._

“Listen, I’m just trying to tell you that I’m here for you.” Steve has the decency to look earnest about it.

“You’re not _here_ for me, Harrington. You don’t give a shit about me. Save your fucking pity, and leave me alone.”

Steve sighs and reaches up, touching Billy’s arm in some attempt to comfort. “Hargrove…”

And there’s that look again, on Steve’s face, the fucking pity that Billy’s been seeing all damn day. And Billy can’t help it, he really can’t, when his hand tightens into a fist and he punches Harrington in his stupid, _pretty_ face, fist connecting with jaw in a satisfying crunch.

Harrington staggers back, hand cupping his jaw and eyes wide. “What the fuck, man?”

“Billy!” Max shouts, running out of the school with her little nerd friends. “What did you do?”

“Get in the car, Max,” Billy snarls, not sparing a second glance in Harrington’s direction – or anyone’s direction, really – he doesn’t want to see their faces right now. He doesn’t want to see the judgment, or the pity, or whatever anyone is feeling. He gets into the car and starts it before leaning his head out of the window and shouting, “Get in the fucking car!”

Max huffs and opens the passenger door, and the second the door is closed Billy is gunning it, Camaro flying out of the parking lot. He’s driving too damn fast, he knows it, but he can’t fucking help it. Adrenaline is pumping in his veins and he’s so _mad_. He’s so fucking angry. 

“Why did you hit Steve? I thought I told you to leave me and my friends alone!” Max asks, turning toward Billy, and he can tell that she’s mad as hell.

“None of your fucking business.” Billy reaches down to turn on the radio and blasts it so loud it hurts his head a little, but he doesn’t care. It floods his thoughts so all he can think of is the music in his ears and the road ahead of him.

When they reach the house, Billy shuts off the car and is about to get out when Max says, quietly but intensely, “You are no better than your father, Billy.”

Billy can’t fucking breathe.


	3. Shout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! I was holding off on giving the story a rating but with this chapter I'm going to change the rating to M. It may change to E in the future.   
> By the way, if people haven't noticed, every chapter is named after a song either from the 80s or by a band from the 80s, because I have always been and will always be 80s trash. As I'm walking to class and work every day I get ideas for new chapters, and I've been naming the chapters after the song that was the main inspiration. From now on I'll include the artist in my notes so y'all can listen if you want to. The first chapter was Lullaby by The Cure, the second chapter was Dirt by Depeche Mode, and this chapter is Shout by Tears for Fears.   
> Enjoy the chapter and please leave kudos/comments! The feedback I've been getting has been making me so inspired!!

A week after Max lays that bombshell, after she speaks the truth that everyone else is thinking but doesn’t dare tell him, she hasn’t said another word to Billy. At all.

He feels like he’s constantly in some kind of state, all raw nerves and nervous energy all the time. Well, he’s kind of always been that way, but up until this point he’s just ridden the wave of it and let it take its course. When he feels like this, he just punches something – or someone – and gets it out of his system, gets drunk, or fucks some chick.

But he doesn’t want to just punch someone. Not after what Max had said.

When he thinks about it after she’s said it, when he thinks about it that night and every night to follow, staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to get a wink of sleep, he knows she’s right.

He’s _just_ like his dad.

And he doesn’t want to be. More than anything else in his entire fucking life he knows he doesn’t want to be like his dad.

Word gets around that Billy punched Harrington in the face after he tried to console him. That does a good job of shifting the focus away from Billy, but maybe not totally in the way that Billy wishes it would have happened. Now, instead of everyone looking at him like he’s a kicked puppy, everyone just ignores him completely. Even Tommy, the fuckwit. Billy doesn’t even really like Tommy or Carol, but there’s something really uncomfortable about _Billy-fucking-Hargrove_ eating lunch alone every day.

And he does. He eats alone.

If it were warmer he’d just eat outside, but the chill of a Hawkins winter derails that thought. He’s still not used to it, and maybe things would be easier if he finally gave in and bought a real winter coat for himself. But he really doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want this living situation to be permanent enough that he needs to buy a coat. You don’t need a winter coat in California.

It’s almost tempting not to show up at school at all, but sitting in an empty house all day, looking at the floor near the dining room table and knowing that’s where it happened, that’s where it could have been all over, is much worse.

So here he sits in the corner of the cafeteria, eating a shitty bologna sandwich he threw together this morning and dying for a cigarette. He eyes the other students, and maybe he’s staring a bit, but that’s just too fucking bad.

His survey of the room stops when his eyes land on Harrington. He’s sitting with that bitch he used to date – what the fuck’s her name? Doesn’t she have the same name as the first lady or some shit? – and that guy who looks like he does hard drugs and has a house filled with weird-ass drawings all over the walls.

Yeah, he may have been stabbed in the neck with a tranq but he still remembers how fucking crazy the Byers’ house was.

Steve’s wearing this navy blue sweater with a low turtleneck, and it’s tight to his slim physique. Something curls in Billy’s stomach and he doesn’t know what that means, exactly. The feeling isn’t anger, he knows that much, but he doesn’t want to think about what the feeling reminds him of. It feels a little bit too much like something else that Billy is all-too familiar with.

Steve doesn’t look like he’s have the greatest time in the world, sitting there with his ex and the guy she’s now fucking, but at least he isn’t sitting alone like Billy is.

Nancy’s eyes come up from her food and she makes eye contact with Billy from across the room. She’s clearly a tough broad, because she glares and pegs him off.

Billy looks away, suddenly fascinated with the fake wood pattern on the tabletop. Shit, when did he become such a fucking pussy? He wants to stand up, march over to their table, and give that bitch a piece of his mind.

His jaw clenches and his palms sweat and here it is again. He’s so mad, so fucking angry, but he repeats to himself over and over and over “I don’t want to be like Dad.”

Eventually the feeling subsides enough that he doesn’t want to punch anyone anymore, but he still doesn’t feel so hot.

He takes a bite out of his sandwich and wonders what the fuck he’s going to do.

* * *

 

Later, when he’s driving to the middle school to pick up Max, he resolves with himself that he doesn’t want to lose her completely. There are only so many times he can stand making small talk with Susan at dinner while Max sits there and glares, rolling her peas around on her plate.

Max gets in the car and does her usual, as of late, _I’m not going to talk to you, so don’t even try_ routine of immediately scrounging up a comic book out of her backpack and turning toward the window to read it.

“Uh, kid…” Billy starts, and crap, is that really him? He sounds so fucking tentative to his own ears, and apparently Max notices too because her ears perk up a bit. “I need to talk to you. About what you said.”

“I meant what I said, Billy,” Max grumbles, not even bothering to pick her eyes up from her comic.

Billy tries his damndest not to get frustrated. “I know you did. And you were right, I have been acting like Neil.”

“And…” Max prompts, _finally_ looking up at him. “Have anything else to say?”

“What, do you want me to say sorry or some shit?” Uh-oh. This is not exactly how he planned for this to go, but, once again, the harsh words are just falling out of his mouth without him meaning to.

“You are impossible.” Max starts reading her book again.

The two sit in silence for a little while longer before Billy finally pushes down his pride and says, “I am. Sorry, I mean.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Max rolls her eyes. “But I’m not the only one you need to say sorry to.”

“What, you want me to apologize to your little boyfriend?”

“Yes! And Steve. And the rest of my friends, for almost running them over with your car. And my mom. And then I want you to go talk to the school counselor like Chief Hopper told you to. Then, I’ll think about forgiving you.”

Bitch drives a hard bargain.

* * *

 

Billy wakes up from the light sleep he had fallen into and gazes blearily at the clock near his bed. 2 AM. Fuck.

As he wakes up, he becomes aware of the tightening in his stomach and between his legs. He’s hard as a fucking rock.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this, touched himself in the dark in the middle of the night. But it’s been a weird fucking couple of weeks and he deserves this, he guesses.

He wraps a hand around his cock and begins to stroke it lazily, closing his eyes and thinking about someone else touching him. The girl touching him is nondescript in his mind until suddenly she’s not anymore, and fuck, she’s not a she at all. Fuck him to hell, Billy is thinking about Steve Harrington as he rubs one out.

He knows this is _wrong_ , so fucking wrong on so many levels, but he can’t stop stroking his dick, up and down, and thinking about Steve’s fucking stupid pretty face and body and hair and smile and – fuck, he’s coming, he’s coming harder than he has in such a long time. He has to reach his other hand up to bite into his fist, because if he doesn’t then he’s going to wake up the entire house with his groan. His head is spinning as wave upon wave of pleasure surges through his body. When it ends his limbs go limp and he feels like his body could sink right into the mattress.

Suddenly, awareness comes back to him and the reality of what he just did and who he just thought about as he did it comes rushing to him, and he’s panicking. It feels like someone is sitting on his chest, and he knows that Neil is going to find out about this somehow; he always fucking finds out when Billy does something wrong.

Jesus. _Jesus_. He cannot – will _not_ – have the hots for Steve Harrington. There’s no way in hell.


	4. My Ever Changing Moods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how much I like this chapter. I'm not sure it's too realistic, but that's okay. It's kind of necessary for the progression of the story so I apologize if this chapter doesn't ring true.  
> By the way, this chapter is named after My Ever Changing Moods by Style Council.  
> Please let me know what you think, even if you hate it! I tried my best to keep this as in-character as possible but that's always been tough for me so, again, I apologize if this chapter is shit as a result.

Billy keeps thinking about what Max and Hopper had told him about going to see the school counselor. He doubts going will actually help him at all but, at this point, he’s not going to get Max to chill out until he does it. He figures going in and making up some bullshit will suffice.

During lunch on a Monday morning, Billy walks to the office and knocks on the door. He guesses that this is better than sitting alone in the cafeteria staring at the back of Harrington’s head and trying not to get hard. That’s been an interesting development as of late, but Billy keeps telling himself that it’s probably just a side-effect of getting hit in the head or some shit. He doesn’t want to believe that it could possibly be anything else.

 A short woman with frizzy hair opens the door and Billy is taken aback by how much her eyes remind him of his mother’s. The air whooshes out of his lungs in a long breath and maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Panic starts bubbling up; someone is going to see him talking to the school counselor and that pity bullshit is going to start again and then he’s going to go off the handle and punch someone – and with his luck, it’s going to be Harrington again.

He starts to turn to walk away when the lady says, “Hi, I’m Liz. Want to come in and talk?” and her voice is so gentle, so _soothing_ , that Billy thinks fuck it, _don’t be a pussy_ , and follows her into her office.

Her office is decorated very plainly, with a couple of generic artworks of flowers on the wall. The focal point is her Master’s Degree in Psychology, Class of 1983, displayed proudly on the wall above her desk. Well, at least she’s not a fucking quack or some shit. Billy feels a little relieved at that.

He sits down across from her desk and tries to look as casual as possible, slouching a bit in his seat.

“I must be frank with you, Mr. Hargrove. I have been waiting for you to finally come see me.”

Well, shit. Apparently this bitch knows _all_ about how Billy’s dad has been hitting him or whatever, and here comes yet another pity fest. Anger seeps into his words and Billy bites, “So what, you’re going to tell me all about how you feel _so_ bad for me?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to insert my opinions about the situation here. I just want you to be able to talk about how _you_ feel about it.”

Billy sighs at that and relaxes just a bit. He’s still on his guard about it, but at least it doesn’t seem like he’s going to get coddled here. But, if he’s being perfectly honest, he feels kind of ashamed anyway.

“So, to start, what prompted you to come see me today?”

“Eh, my step-sister,” he replies sheepishly. He takes a deep breath and imagines that his nerves are turning to steel. “She told me the other day that I’m just like my dad.”

“That must have been hard to hear.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Billy says, downplaying it. This lady doesn’t need to know how that made him feel. She doesn’t need to know that it felt like someone was sitting on his chest afterward, that he couldn’t sleep for days after she said it. “She’s right though.”

She furrows her eyebrows a bit and jots something down. “What makes you say that?”

Billy’s fist tightens and he clenches his teeth and shit, shit, _shit_. Why the hell did even come here? He feels like such a little bitch, talking about his feelings to this random-ass lady with eyes that are too close to his mom’s for comfort. “I mean,” he starts, and he’s trying to keep his anger out of his words but it’s not working very well. That always seems to happen. “I get really mad a lot, and I do stupid shit. I hit people, or I drive really fast, or I say shit that I don’t really mean. Or the stuff I do mean to say comes out all wrong.”

Liz nods and brushes a tendril of her hair out of her face. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll end up like your dad, though. I bet he wouldn’t even acknowledge that what he was doing was wrong at all.”

And Billy is a little surprised about how nice that is to hear. She’s right about that. Neil wouldn’t ever be sitting in Billy’s position, talking about how he feels and about whether or not what he’s doing is _right_. Neil probably thinks that hitting Billy is being a good father, that he’s teaching him _respect and responsibility._ Billy doesn’t hit anyone because he thinks that he should. It just kind of happens. “Yeah,” he says, with a shrug, “I guess.”

He’s dying for a cigarette. “So, you said sometimes you get really angry. What does it feel like when you do?”

“Eh, I don’t know…” he starts, trailing off. But he _does_ know. He knows exactly what it feels like. It feels like there are a thousand thoughts in his head at once, and it feels like he won’t be able to breathe until he does something about it. The second he hits someone, or yells, or gets a rush of some kind it starts to go away, but then the panic sets in about his dad finding out about what he’s done. But there’s no way in hell he can tell this woman that. She’ll lock him up in the loony bin. “Feels like I’m just mad for no reason and that I gotta do something about it.”

Suddenly the bell that signals the end of lunch period rings and Billy is standing up so fast that the blood rushes to his head and he feels dizzy. He keeps forgetting that his body’s still kind of in recovery mode. Liz smiles at him and says, “Mr. Hargrove, I hope to see you again tomorrow.”

* * *

 

It’s a fucking tough decision, but Billy sits and talks with Liz again the next day. And the next day. And the next. And soon he’s gone to see her every day for two weeks and he’s actually starting to feel like he’s getting somewhere. Especially when Liz tells him exactly what she thinks is going on with him.

“So, Billy,” she starts, putting her pen down. “I can’t officially diagnose you; the school district doesn’t let me. But I can tell you what I think is going on.”

“Oh?” he asks, and his eyebrows fly up on his face. “Gonna send me to the psych ward _now_?” That’s become a running joke, now, that Liz is going to send him to a padded cell somewhere. Billy kind of knows that that’s not going to happen, but there’s still a part of him that’s afraid it’s going to.

“No,” Liz says gently, smiling. She’s so calm all the time and it makes Billy feel better. Not that he’d admit that shit to her. “We once thought that PTSD was only something that happened to soldiers returning from combat, but we know now that that’s not the case. Any person who has experienced some form of trauma can develop post-traumatic stress as a result. In your case, what you have gone through has led you to feeling angry and making rash decisions, which is typical of those with PTSD.”

 _Shit_. Billy’s got something that people who fight in wars get? “That’s cool as fuck!” he blurts out without meaning to. Liz cocks her head and smirks and Billy appreciates that she’s not laughing at him, because he feels like he’s going to die he’s so embarrassed. “I mean, uh… fascinating.”

This time, Liz does laugh.

* * *

 

That afternoon, Billy is waiting to pick Max up after AV club. His windows are up, he’s got a cigarette between his teeth, and his car heat is blasting because _shit_ it’s cold. He thought it was cold at the beginning of December but now that the chill of January has set in it’s even more unbearable. He’s got to stop wearing his shirts unbuttoned to his naval. And he should probably get warmer coat than just his denim jacket. 

Steve’s waiting in the parking lot too - probably picking up that kid with the lisp, Duster or whatever his name is - but he doesn’t even spare a glance in Billy’s direction. Billy understands it, sure, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about it. His hands tighten on his steering wheel and he wants to hit something, but he focuses on his breathing instead like Liz told him to. He feels kind of dumb doing it, but it works.

Thankfully, it isn’t long before Max is opening the passenger door and getting in the car. She still isn’t initiating any conversation with him, but at least she isn’t burying her face in a comic anymore. As she gets in his car he puts his cigarette out, cause she’s bitched about the smell before and he needs to have her in a good mood for this conversation.

“So,” Billy starts once he’s on the road. His grip is tightening on the wheel again and needs to calm down so he can get these words out and not fuck it all up. “I’ve been seeing the school counselor like you told me to.”

“How long?” Max asks, seemingly disinterested. Billy’s got to hand it to her how firm she’s being with this whole thing.

“A couple of weeks. Today she told me what she thinks is wrong with me.”

“Other than you being an asshole?” Max asks, and Billy is going to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe she’s being playful. Cause otherwise he’d stop the car and let her walk home, cold weather be damned.

“Yeah. Got PTSD, I guess,” he says as he makes a turn, and the second he says it he feels a little relieved. It’s not an excuse, it doesn’t make anything he’s done okay, but it makes him feel a little bit less like his dad and a little bit more like a redeemable person.

That seems to get Max’s attention. “Really?”

“Yup,” Billy says, letting the pop of the ‘p’ ring out.

“Well, thanks for telling me,” Max says, sinking back into her uninterested bravado. “You still have to apologize to everyone, though.”

Fuck. Billy was trying to forget about that part of the deal.


	5. Blue Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! I was inspired so I wrote another chapter tonight! So if you are about to read this and you haven't read chapter 4 yet, go back!
> 
> Speaking of chapter four, a commenter made the really good point that the counseling shit was not accurate. I added in that Liz is a new graduate, and I want to make it clear that what she did - telling Billy he has PTSD (a relatively new diagnosis)- was NOT typical, nor was it standard practice. And it was v v v rushed. But I wanted to get the story rolling along, and I'm sorry if that upset anyone. I told another person that I didn't want the story to become a "Billy goes to counseling over and over" story, because I know if I was reading I probably wouldn't want to read that. And I don't feel like I know enough about how counseling actually feels, especially counseling in the 80s, so I thought it was better to do a time shift and leave it out than attempt to write it and get it all wrong.  
> Anyway, this chapter deals with a little of the "is Billy a racist?" thing, and I tried to deal with it delicately but it's possible that I fucked up. So sorry again if people aren't happy with that. Thank you for those who leave kudos and comment! I appreciate you guys so much.  
> This chapter is named after Blue Monday by New Order.

Billy begins the Billy Hargrove Apology Tour of 1985 with Susan. He figures that’s the easiest apology he’s going to have to make, because, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t even really know what he has to apologize for anyway. He guesses he can apologize for being shitty to Max and for pushing Susan away. But Billy kind of feels like Susan owes him an apology, too.

It’s a Friday night and Max is going to hang out with her friends at the arcade, so Billy doesn’t have to pick her up until 8. He doesn’t have any of his own plans, of course, because lately his only friends have been Liz and Max, and Max doesn’t even really count. And neither does Liz, if he thinks about it a little harder. He's starting to think that Liz is bullshitting him a little bit, because he asks her about PTSD one day and it seems like she's kind of backpedaling from that whole thing. Oh well. At least she listens to him. 

He knows that Susan gets out of work at 6 so on his way home from school he picks up a bouquet of flowers for a couple of bucks. The flowers are kind of wilted and not that pretty, considering it’s fucking winter, but that’s the best he’s going to do.

When he gets home he rummages through the kitchen cabinets and finds a vase for them. As the vase is filling with water he lights a cigarette and takes a slow drag. What he really needs is a stiff fucking drink, but Liz told him that drinking is a bad idea. She also told him he should quit cigarettes, but that wasn’t going to fucking happen. So she made him choose between the smokes or the drinks and he picked the smokes.

Once the vase is full he takes the flowers out of their plastic and puts them in the vase. He unceremoniously leaves them on the kitchen counter and goes to his room, where he pops in a Van Halen tape and thinks about what the fuck he’s going to say.

* * *

 

When Susan comes home she knocks on the wooden frame of Billy’s doorway and asks, shyly, “What are those flowers on the kitchen counter?”

Show time. Billy stands up and tries to smile in a nice-and-not-menacing way. (He’s been told before that sometimes when he smiles he looks like a psychopath). “They're for you,” he says, like it’s no big deal.

Susan looks stunned. “Did you buy them? Or was Neil…”

Oh. _Oh fuck._ Billy probably should have kept them in his room and given them to her when she got home, because he sure as fuck didn’t want her to think that Neil had come back to the house. “No! No, they’re from me.”

Susan still looks confused. “And why did you get them?”

Billy stands up and walks over to her, trying not to be intimidating. He knows that Susan has seen him in all types of states – she’s seen him crying, she’s seen Neil beating him up, but she’s also seen him bitching about Max and being an asshole. “I just wanted to…” he starts, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “I wanted to try to say sorry to you, for treating Max the way I used to.” It doesn’t come across as sincerely as he actually means it, but at least it comes out.

Susan looks like she’s about cry and Billy pats her on the arm in what he hopes is a comforting way and not a condescending way. That only spurs her on and she actually starts to cry, and she throws her arms around him and holds him. “Oh, Billy, I’m so sorry I never did anything about your father,” she sobs, and wasn’t Billy supposed to be the one apologizing here? But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t appreciate hearing that. He hugs her back gently.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and he’s a little surprised that that’s him talking. His voice sounds foreign in his ears. He’d usually feel so uncomfortable with this kind of contact but he’s not panicking and he’s not getting angry. He just feels relieved.  “You were scared.”

Susan pulls away and wipes at her eyes, and, with that, Billy feels like he’s got another friend to add to the list. She’s not his mom, sure, but Billy figures it’s not wrong to let her in.

“So, what do you want for dinner?”

* * *

 

The next week, Max is supposed to go Mike’s house to hang out with all her little friends, and Billy figures that now is as good of a time as ever to get some more apologies out of the way. “Why don’t you have your little friends come to our house?” Max goes wide eyed and she probably assumes Billy wants to do something to them. That’s a little discouraging, but Billy has to just move past it. “To apologize to them, dipshit,” he says, shaking his head, and it comes out a little more fondly than he expects. Max just smiles nervously and agrees to it.

After AV club the next day, Steve isn’t there, obviously, because Billy has the great privilege of driving all the kids to their house. He doesn’t actually have enough seats for all of them, but he figures that Byers kid is little enough that he can sit on someone’s lap. Max moves to sit in the back with Lucas but Billy notices a look of panic on Mike and Dustin’s faces, both probably scared to sit up front with him. He doesn’t blame them for that.

So that’s how it happens that an irritated Max sits in the front with him, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas pile in the back, and Will lays across their laps. Thank God they are all too scared of him to say anything, because Billy can just imagine the headache he’d get if they were all talking at once.

He puts the radio on and drives home, trying not to speed because he’d be in trouble if he was stopped by the police with all these fucking kids packed into his car.

The second they get to the house the kids are rushing out of the car like it’s on fire, and by the time Billy gets out and grabs his bag from the trunk they’re already in Max’s room with the door closed.

Billy figures he’ll give them some time before he tries to talk to them. He doesn’t know why he’s so fucking nervous about apologizing to a bunch of middle schoolers, but he really is. He’s especially nervous about having to say sorry to Lucas.

He’s knows what they all think of him because of the fact that he attacked Lucas. He knows they think that he’s some kind of racist psychopath, and he’s got to find a way to convince them that that’s really not him. He’s thought long and hard about why Max being with Lucas bothered him so fucking much, and it feels like such a cop out but it’s really because of his dad. He guesses that in some kind of sick way he was trying to protect Max, because he knows what his dad would have done if Max brought Lucas home or something. It would have been way worse than anything Billy could have possibly dished out. But he knows now that he went about it all the wrong way, and that it’s going to take a lot of time for Max and her friends to trust that he doesn’t actually care if Lucas is black.

At 5:30 he decides to throw caution to the wind and knocks on Max’s door. She shouts, “Come in!” and he opens the door. All the boys tense up the second they realize it’s him knocking and not Susan, and he leans against the door frame to try to look as casual as fucking possible. “You guys hungry? I was thinking of getting pizza if you guys want to order. I’ll buy.”

The kids look at each other in unison and it’s like they are talking telepathically in some kind of secret code as to whether or not they want to take him up on his offer. It’s almost endearing, in a way. They turn toward him and Mike nods, saying, “We’re in.”

When the pizza arrives Billy calls them all to the dining room. He sits at the head of the table, but then he realizes that this is where Neil was sitting when he beat him up. He starts panicking a little – they aren’t going to forgive him, he’s going to make a fucking fool of himself – and his fists are tightening but he breathes through it and all the kids are rushing into the room.

Billy coughs and says, “Why don’t you guys come sit at the table?”

Max offers him a smile and puts a hand on his shoulder while the boys rush into the kitchen to get drinks and plates. It makes Billy smile, and he nods his head in reply. Max knows what it means. She knows that he’s trying to thank her for it but the words just won’t come out.

When the boys come into the room, they all sit around him at the table and start digging into the pizza. “I… uh. I wanted to talk to all of you.”

The little one, Will, looks up from his pizza and he looks so fucking panicked that Billy feels like a monster. But he has to keep reminding himself that he’s not his dad, that he’s not irredeemable, that even if the kids don’t forgive him today it’s still important that he tries.

“I’ve been acting like an asshole for a really long time. And I’ve been especially horrible to you guys. So I wanna say sorry for almost running you over with my car, and for just being an all-around shitty dude.” He takes a deep breath and looks at Max, who smiles and then gestures subtly toward Lucas. “And I owe even more of an apology to you, Sinclair.”

Lucas gets a little wide-eyed but it’s clear he’s a tough kid because he quickly hides his panic and crosses his arms. “Max, uh, told me about your dad and stuff. So I get it,” the kid says, and Billy admires his maturity. Lord knows Billy would never say that when he was his age, and he’d probably not even say something like that now.

“Y’know, I’m trying this new thing where I stop using my dad as an excuse for being an asshole. I am actually sorry, kid, for what I did to you and how I treated you. And I support you being with my sister, as long as you treat her right and all that shit.”

Max gapes like a fish and Billy thinks _what, what the hell did I just say?_ And then it dawns on him – he just called Max his sister. Not his step-sister, but his _sister_. Lucas nods his head and leans over the table to shake Billy’s hand, and Billy grasps his hand firmly. Again, he’s stricken by just how mature Lucas is. He’s a cool kid.

For now, it seems like he and Max are good, and it makes him feel better than he’s felt in a while.

Now all that’s left is to apologize to Steve. Jesus Christ.


	6. Shake the Disease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So last night I stayed up until about 5 in the morning, and I may or may not have written 5 chapters of this story. I think I'll upload once in the morning and once at night until I run out of material. There's a chance I might go nuts and finish writing the story tonight. Who freaking knows  
> Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter! As always please leave kudos/comments because I seriously love interacting with y'all.  
> This chapter title is Shake the Disease by Depeche Mode. I really think you should give this one a listen if you haven't been doing that already with these songs (:

Today’s the day. Today’s the fucking day that Billy is going to lay it all on the line and apologize to Steve Harrington.

He’s talked to Max about it and she agreed to stall AV club, that way the club doesn’t get out until 5 or so, giving Billy just enough time to say sorry to Steve, but not enough time that it gets awkward or anything. Billy needs a quick get-a-way.

That morning Billy finds himself paying careful attention to how he looks, more-so than usual as of late. Lately, he’s kind of not given a fuck. He hasn’t looked like a slob or anything, but why try so hard if no one is even going to make eye contact with him at school?

But today, he styles his hair meticulously in the mirror, and he chooses one of his favorite earrings. It’s a dangling, shiny triangle, and he loves how it looks up against his face. The blue of his button down matches his eyes and he smirks in the mirror as he surveys himself. He’s about to grab his cologne and rub it on his balls, but then it occurs to him just how fucking gay that is.

That’s another issue that Billy’s been facing lately. The fact that he probably wants to fuck Steve Harrington. It’s not like he wants to be lovey-dovey or some shit. He just wants a fuck.

When he thinks about it, this has happened in the past. Girls have always caught his attention, sure, but sometimes a particularly good-looking boy will catch his eye and he can’t help but notice how broad their shoulders are or how tight their ass looks. But he’s never done anything about that, never _could_ do anything about that, and it’s never been anything serious. But now that he’s in Hawkins, Indiana, away from all his friends from back home and with his dad out of the picture, he feels like this whole thing with Steve is a little more intense than he’s experienced before.

The way he looks at Steve isn’t restricted to noticing his shoulders or his ass or whatever. He notices stupid things, too, like the volume of Steve’s hair, or the glimmer in his eyes, or the warmth of his smile.

If Neil was around, he’d probably be a little bit more panicked about it, but thankfully Susan has stuck to her guns and it was clear that Neil was _not_ welcome back. Billy doesn’t know exactly what happened to him, but as long as he’s not here then he’s fine.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s _fine_ if Billy’s got the tiniest, littlest crush on Harrington. 

* * *

 

Billy takes in a deep breath and gets out of his car. He walks over to Steve’s and knocks on the window. Steve jumps a little in his seat, startled by the sound, clearly, and Billy’s heart does a little flippy thing in his chest. _Jesus, that was cute._

Steve gets out of his car and slams the door. “What the fuck do you want?”

Billy’s a little taken aback by the anger, but he’s gotta be cool. “What’s the matter, pretty boy, did I scare you? Don’t be such a pussy.”

Steve scowls and crosses his arms and shit shit _shit._ Billy did not mean to say it like that, did not mean to make Steve mad.

Strike one.

“What do you want, Hargrove?” Steve is looking at Billy like he’s a piece of dog shit under his shoe, and Billy gets it, he does, but it’s probably the whole newly-discovered crush thing that makes it really fucking difficult to stomach. Anger is building up like it hasn’t in literal weeks, and Billy’s trying hard to breathe through it like Liz told him to, but it’s not fucking _working_.

“What the fuck is your problem, Harrington?” Billy is snarling and getting into Steve’s face. Oh no. _Oh God, no!_ “I was going to fucking apologize for hitting you the other day, but I don’t really think I’m sorry at all!” Fuck, what are these words? Why the _fuck_ is he saying this? He doesn’t mean it! He doesn’t mean it at all!

Strike two.

“Are you sorry for almost _killing_ me at the Byers’ house? Are you fucking sorry for that?” Steve isn’t backing down; he’s just as mad as Billy is, if not angrier. He points his finger and jams it into Billy’s chest. His brown eyes make contact with Billy’s blue and he bites, “Fuck you.”

And it reminds Billy so much of that nightmare that he had, makes him feel like all his progress is gone and this whole thing’s been a fucking waste of time. He tries to backpedal, he wants to correct the situation, but all he can get out is a weak, “Fuck you, too.”

Strike three. Billy’s out.

It must be 5 already because the kids come running out of the school. Billy darts to the car and sits in the driver’s seat, tears welling up in his eyes. He hears Steve telling Dustin to get in the car, but Dustin says, “Lemme say hi to Billy first,” because apparently the kid thinks they’re friends now.

Dustin appears at his window with a toothy grin and Billy rolls it down. “Hey, kid.” It comes out like he’s got a lump in his throat and it’s probably because he does. The tears are threatening to roll down his cheeks if he’s not careful.

“Are you okay?” Dustin asks, incredulously, trying to get a closer look at Billy’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” Billy responds curtly, and Dustin takes the hint because he’s waving goodbye and walking away.

Max gets into the backseat, Lucas in tow. “Is it okay if Lucas comes home with us?”

Billy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose and tries his hardest not to take this shit out on the kids. “Yeah, that’s cool.” He starts the car and speeds off, and he doesn’t miss how concerned Max and Lucas’ faces are in the backseat.

When he gets home, he pours himself a shot of tequila.

* * *

 

He’s on drink number 10. Or 11. He doesn’t really remember how to count anymore. His head feels like it’s not attached to his body and he can’t work out if it’s a good feeling or not. He can’t really work out what his name is right now.

Max shows up at his door and her gaze goes to the beer cans scattered around him. “Are you drunk?”

Billy laughs goofily and nods, grinning, “So, so fucking drunk, Miss Max. Oh. Ha. That sounds so fucking funny. Miss Max.”

Max rolls her eyes and sits near him. “Are you going to be okay?”

Billy sticks his bottom lip out and puts his chin on his hand. “I dunno. Ask Steve. I tried to,” Billy is interrupted by a hiccup. “I tried to say sorry today but it went aaalll wrong.” Billy smirks and his head lolls to the side a little. “I screwed up _big_ time, kid. And now, Steve’s never going to wanna kiss me. But I wanna kiss _him_.”

Max looks startled. “What?” Billy asks, giggles bubbling up for no reason. “What’d I say?”

Max just shakes her head at him.

 

The next morning, Billy wakes up with a headache that hits him like a freight train, and no recollection about what happened after drink number eight.


	7. Falling Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to upload this until later tonight but fuck it! I've got up to chapter 12 written already so I'm kind of dying to give you guys more.   
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter, and you know the kudos/comments drill  
> This chapter is named after Falling Down by Tears for Fears

The next day, during a newly added free period – because Billy was sick of not eating lunch every day - Billy’s sitting in Liz’s office with more shame than he’s felt since the first week that he started seeing her. He huffs and scratches the side of his face, tentatively saying, “I got shit-faced drunk last night. I don’t even remember going to bed.”

Liz nods and frowns a little, leaning forward and clasping her hands together. “Why was that?”

Billy breathes out and crosses his legs. He bites his bottom lip and looks at everywhere _but_ Liz and then he admits, “I tried to say sorry to Steve yesterday, and it blew up in my face.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Why did that happen?”

Old habits are sinking back in, and Billy finds himself not wanting to answer her. He doesn’t want to tell her that he acted like a dick, and that his emotions caught him off guard in a way they haven’t in a long time. Instead, he just shrugs.

Liz smiles and gently prompts, “C’mon, Billy. Don’t shut down on me now. What happened?”

“Steve was angry,” Billy finally admits. “He was mad from the start, and I guess I shouldn’t have expected he’d just roll over and let me apologize. But I built it up in my head that it was going to go really well, and it didn’t. I acted like a dick, and he got in my face, and I got in his face, and I kind of told him that I wasn’t sorry. Even though I’m _definitely_ sorry.”

Liz nods and contemplates what he’s just said. “Did you try to breathe through it like I suggested?”

“Yeah, I did, but it didn’t work. I think that shit’s losing its potency.”

Liz chuckles. “Well, here’s another suggestion, then. It seems like when you are angry that you have a lot of energy. Perhaps you could start each morning with intense physical activity, like a morning run. And that will allow you to get some of that energy out of your system.”

Well, it’s not the worst idea Billy’s ever heard.

* * *

 

The next morning, bright and early, Billy’s got a thick sweatshirt and trainers on, and he’s going to fucking go for a run.

The second he starts running, his feet bounding on the concrete and his heart pumping, he has the suspicion that this just might fucking work. Thank fucking Jesus.

It’s going great, until a car pulls up near him and drives at the same speed that he’s running, which, to be honest, isn’t very fast. He’s got to admit to himself that he’s gotten a little out of shape in the aftermath of being in the hospital.

Billy quickly realizes that the car is Steve fucking Harrington’s. Harrington rolls down his window and shouts, “Billy! Can we talk?”

Billy turns his head and raises an eyebrow, not stopping. “Can’t you see I’m fucking running?”

Steve just rolls his eyes and turns toward Billy quickly before looking back at the road. “I’m parking my car. We need to talk.”

Billy throws his arms up in the air incredulously. “I’m _running_ , Harrington!” Steve parks his car and gets out before running too and catching up with Billy. His clothes are _not_ appropriate for this at all, but Billy isn’t too upset about it, because the sweater-jacket combination that Steve’s got going on is really easy on the eyes.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for the other day,” Steve starts, and he already sounds a little out of breath, but Billy doesn’t fault him for it, because he feels just as out of breath as Steve sounds. “Max told me that you were trying to apologize, and Dustin told me that you were crying in your car.” Fucking punk-ass kids.

“Yeah, well,” Billy starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish that statement. What can he say? You’re cute, so you being mad at me makes me really angry? For some reason, Billy doesn’t think that’s going to work out in his favor. “I’m sorry I got mad. I’ve been trying not to do that lately.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Steve responds with a sweet smile that makes Billy’s stomach get all tight. “The kids won’t shut up about how you bought them pizza. You’re the coolest guy ever now.”

“Oops,” Billy replies, smirking. “Didn’t mean to take the spotlight away from you, princess. I’m sure you’re still their favorite babysitter.”

Steve just laughs and keeps running. “Don’t try to take my job, Hargrove. I’m a damn good babysitter.”

Billy shakes his head and his legs are hurting a little, but he ignores it and pushes himself harder to keep up with Steve. The guy’s got these long legs that are cumbersome on the basketball court but let him run like a gazelle, even in denim. Billy’s stockier build isn’t exactly helping him here.

“So, why are you running?” Steve asks after a little bit of silence.

“Eh, counselor told me it’d be good for me. Let off steam and shit.” Billy doesn’t know why he’s admitting that, but the second he says it he feels good about it. He likes sharing shit with Steve. _Fuck._ That’s _so_ queer.

“Oh,” Steve says, like that’s not at all what he’s expected. And it’s probably honestly _not_ what he expected to hear. Billy doubts that the kids at school have caught wind of him going to the counselor, then. That’s good to know. “That’s cool, man. Didn’t know you were seeing the counselor.”

“Yeah, don’t you know my dad fucked me up?” Billy asks, and he means for it to be playful, but Steve looks really somber about it. “I’m just kidding, pretty boy. Well, I mean, it’s kind of the truth, but it’s not a big deal.”

Steve just nods and looks at his feet as he runs. Billy feels like he’s fucked up again, until Steve looks up and asks, “Ever have really bad nightmares? I get them sometimes. They fuck me up.”

Billy stops running. He can’t help it, but the thought that Steve Harrington has nightmares about something, just like he does, stops him in his tracks. “What happened to you for you to have nightmares like that?”

Steve stops too, catching his breath. He cocks his head to the side and runs a hand through his hair before putting his hands on his hips. Steve licks his lips and Billy has to tell himself not to stare too much at the movement of his tongue along his bottom lip. _Jesus._

“I can’t really tell you any specifics,” Harrington starts, sheepishly. “It’s just that there’s some shit that’s happened in Hawkins that’s kind of fucked me up. Let’s just say I’ve been to hell and back.”

Billy nods, respecting that Steve can’t tell him about whatever he’s experienced. Maybe Steve isn’t actually bound to secrecy; maybe he just doesn’t want to talk about it. That’s okay. Just knowing that Steve knows how he feels, even a little bit, makes Billy feel his stomach tighten and his heart flip in his chest.

Boy oh boy. He’s got it bad for Harrington.


	8. Talk About the Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone. It's not a good morning for me - I couldn't sleep last night - but at least I have this fic to look forward to.  
> Like I promised, I'll be uploading twice a day now, because I've written ahead, and I actually only have 5 or so chapters left to write before this fic is done! It's looking like there are going to be about 19 or 20 chapters in total.  
> This is a short chapter, but I like it - and y'all are getting another one tonight, and I think that one's a bit longer.  
> Please leave kudos/comments and enjoy.  
> Edit: I forgot to say what the chapter title song was! It's Talk About the Passion by R.E.M.

Later that day, during lunch period, Billy has reassumed his rightful place in the corner of the cafeteria, sitting alone. Why did he move his meetings with Liz from lunch to his free period, again? As he takes a bite out of his turkey sandwich, he remembers. He’s gotta fucking eat.

He sits there in silence, thinking about this morning with Steve, until he’s startled out of his thoughts by actual Steve. He’s changed out of the clothes he was wearing this morning; they were probably too sweaty to wear to school. Billy’d be upset about it, but the tight fitting striped polo that he’s wearing doesn’t look bad at all. Billy’s got to stop himself from ogling.

“Mind if I sit?” Harrington asks, but before Billy can even respond he’s already dumping his lunch bag on the table and sitting down across from the blonde.

“You know, you don’t have to sit with me,” Billy says with his mouth full of turkey sandwich. Ugh, that’s not cute.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, taking his own lunch out of his bag. He’s got a sandwich, too, but he’s also got a bottle of pop and a couple of fruit roll-ups.

Billy finishes chewing and swallows. “Just cause we talked this morning, doesn’t mean you gotta pretend like you like me or anything. I’m not a charity case.” And Billy fucking means it. Sometime between this morning and now, he’s decided that, yeah, he really fucking wants to kiss Steve all the time. And he doesn’t think he can handle it if Steve decides to pretend to be his friend or some shit just because he feels bad.

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Let me be real, Hargrove. Right now my two choices are sitting with you or with my ex-girlfriend and the guy she’s now fucking. I’d rather sit with you.”

Billy shrugs and takes another bite. “Fair enough.” Steve grimaces a little and Billy’s _got_ to stop talking with his fucking mouth full.

“Is that sandwich all you have for lunch?” Steve asks, cocking his head. Billy just nods, because he’s got another mouthful of sandwich and he’s trying to be polite, dammit. “Here,” Harrington says, shoving a fruit roll-up at him.

Billy nods in response and takes the damn thing, squinting at it like it’s a foreign object. Which it kind of is. These things are relatively new and he can’t say his dad was ever buying him little snacks to put in his lunchbox.

“What, never had a fruit roll-up before?” Steve asks with a smile.

“Nah, man. Aren’t these things for little kids?”

“Um, they’re fucking delicious,” Harrington responds, fake pouting and crossing his arms. Billy feels so fucking smitten; it’s ridiculous.

“Okay, okay, Harrington. I’ll try the damn fruit roll-up,” Billy grumbles, opening the cellophane wrapper and taking a bite out of the sticky snack. His eyebrows raise a little.

“Fucking delicious, right?” Steve questions excitedly, leaning forward in his seat.

“Uh, yeah, it’s okay. Tastes like candy,” Billy responds, taking another bite. “No way this is real fruit, though. This is probably horrible for you.”

Steve scoffs. “Don’t you smoke about 3 packs of cigarettes a day?”

Billy shrugs, and replies, “Um, I’m down to one and a half, Harrington, thank you very much.”

Steve acts all fake surprised. “Well, well, well, look at you. Doesn’t trust a fruit roll-up, goes for runs in the morning, and only smokes a pack a day. Mr. Healthy over here.”

“What can I say?” Billy asks, leaning back in his seat. “Slap a glittery outfit on me and call me Richard fucking Simmons.”

Steve gets a fucking kick out of that, and he starts laughing uncontrollably in his seat. Billy feels a wide, genuine smile spread across his face and warmth settles in his belly. If wants to do anything in this world, right now, it’s to make Steve fucking laugh like that as many times as he possibly can.

“Careful,” Steve says between chuckles, “I might start to actually like you.”

* * *

 

And so that’s how it happens that Billy can add another friend to his list. He’s got Liz, and Susan, and Max (and her friends, by default), and now he’s got _Steve_. Steve has begun accompanying him on his morning runs every day, and it’s honestly the highlight of Billy’s day, his _week_. They shoot the shit every morning, talking about anything and everything. Their favorite basketball teams, what it was like for Steve to grow up in Hawkins, what it’s like back in California. They banter, and they laugh, and every time Billy makes Steve laugh so hard that he throws his head back, Billy feels like he’s on top of the fucking world.

Having Steve there, as a support-system or whatever, is making Billy feel like he’s back on track again. He’s fully recovered from how much their fight derailed him.

But that makes him worried a little, too. He doesn’t want to count _too_ much on Steve, because, knowing Billy, he’s going to fuck it up. He’s going to do or say something, and Steve’s never going to speak to him again, and Billy’s probably going to drink himself to death or some shit.

Well. Guess he’s gotta try his damndest not to fuck it up, then. Shouldn’t be too hard.


	9. The Killing Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't like this chapter, so I added some more stuff to it, and I still don't love it, but it's as good as it's going to get. Here you guys go. Hopefully you like it more than I do.   
> It's named after The Killing Moon by Echo and the Bunnymen.  
> As always, please leave kudos/comments because they are the best part of my day xx

“So,” Steve starts one morning during their run. “Since the kids like you so much now, any chance that you’d wanna come with me to the Henderson’s house on Friday? They’re having a movie night or something, and I’ve gotta go and babysit them all. You can bring Max, too.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess, Harrington. Got nothing better to do.”

Steve over exaggeratingly tightens his fist and throws it up in celebration. “Fuck yes!” he shouts, and then he starts running backwards. He looks so fucking goofy and adorable that Billy finds himself grinning against his will.

“You look so fucking stupid, pretty boy,” he says smugly. Yeah, Steve _does_ look stupid, but Billy’s leaving out the fact that Steve’s making him so fucking happy it hurts right now.

“Can’t a man celebrate the fact that he doesn’t have to spend his Friday night alone with a bunch of middle schoolers?”

Billy shrugs and nods his head. “Yeah, but if you fall on your ass because you’re running backwards, don’t come crying to me, princess.”

* * *

 

On Friday night, Billy painstakingly picks his outfit as he smokes a cigarette and listens to his favorite song as of late - “Hot for Teacher” by Van Halen - on full blast. Instead of his normal open buttoned shirt look, he opts for a deep black, tight-fitting t-shirt with his denim jacket on top instead. He’s also got this long-ass necklace on, one that matches his earring, and he fucking _loves_ how he looks. He can’t help but turn and ogle his own ass in the mirror.

He’s startled out of his admiration by Max laughing in his doorway. “What’re you all dressed up for?” she asks with a smirk, her arms crossed. “We’re just going to the Henderson’s.”

Billy crosses his arms, mimicking her stance, and says, “Okay, says the girl who’s definitely got blush and lip gloss on right now. I see right through you.”

Max rolls her eyes and walks out of the doorway. Billy shuts of the radio and puts out his cigarette before following her, feeling relaxed and content. They get in the car and the good mood continues with them singing along to the radio together.

The more and more he interacts with her, the more he figures out that Max is a really fucking cool chick.

When they get to Dustin’s house, Steve’s car is already parked out front. Billy parks near it and they ring the doorbell, and when Steve answers the door, Billy’s breath is taken away. Steve’s got on a baseball tee with the arms pushed up past his wrists. His cheeks are slightly flushed, too. Billy doesn’t know what it is about him right now, but Harrington looks so fucking _cute_ it makes Billy want to sink into the floor. 

Max rushes into the house and immediately stands near Lucas, and it’s really endearing to see. Steve smiles in their direction before heading into the kitchen. Billy follows him, and he immediately notices a six pack of beers on the counter. _Fuck_. He wants one – he wants one so fucking bad, but he can’t. He can’t let himself get drunk again, not after the last time. He’s still got no fucking idea what he did or said and he can’t take that chance again, not with Steve and the kids. _No_. He cannot fucking drink tonight.

They lean up against the counter as the kids pop in a VHS tape of some shitty movie that Billy’s got no interest in at all.

“So, English Lit is kicking my ass,” Steve starts, making conversation as he pops open a beer. “I can’t write for shit, man.”

Billy just nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t really know what to say to that.

“Want a beer?” Steve asks, and Billy stiffens up. Yes, he wants a fucking beer, but _no_ , he should not have a fucking beer. He just shakes his head. Steve scoffs, “Okay, Mr. Keg. I know you can drink me under the table.”

“Just don’t feel like drinking,” Billy responds, snidely, and it’s not like the usual banter they have. No, there’s real bite to his words, and _shit_ this is not how he planned for this night to go. It’s just he knows that Steve’s going to keep pushing him to drink, and he’s fucking embarrassed that the reason he can’t just let go and have a damn beer is because he got black-out drunk the other night and his damn _counselor_ told him not to do it again.

Steve seems to respect that, for now, but after his second - and then his third - beer, his morals are a little looser, and he’s trying, again, to get Billy to have one too. “C’mon, Billy, have a fucking drink, man. I don’t want to be the only one drinking here,” and he’s shoving a beer in Billy’s face. Billy doesn’t find Steve very endearing right now. Isn’t Steve supposed to be his fucking support system? Isn’t Steve supposed to be his _friend?_ Why the fuck is he trying to sabotage him like this?

And Billy knows that’s not really the case, that Steve’s probably not trying to consciously sabotage him into fucking up, but the part of Billy’s mind that’s rational is being fucking stomped on by frustration with himself, by how fucking weak he is, and pure fucking _fear_ that he’s going to fall off the handle, he’s going to do something that he’s going to fucking regret.

“No. I don’t want a drink,” he responds as calmly as he possibly can, and it doesn’t sound very calm at all.

And then Steve sneers, and maybe it’s supposed to be playful but it doesn’t fucking sound like Steve’s joking at all. “When’d you get to be so fucking _uptight_?” and something in Billy just _snaps_ , and suddenly he’s shoving Steve roughly against the fridge. The second he does it, sees Steve’s wide-eyed, surprised look, he knows he’s ruined everything, and he can’t fucking breathe. He darts out of the house and runs to the street, plopping himself down on the curb. He pulls at his hair, and it _hurts_.

He hears the front door open and close, distantly, and then suddenly Max is there, sitting on the curb beside him.

“What happened back there?” Max asks, and Billy just shakes his head. Max notices that he’s about to tug his hair out of his scalp, so she delicately grabs his wrists and pulls them away from his head. “Billy, your hands are shaking so bad,” she murmurs, still clasping his wrists.

Oh, shit. They _are_ shaking, aren’t they? He gasps out, admits without thinking, “I feel like someone is sitting on my chest right now.”

Max just sighs and does something she’s never fucking done before. She wraps her arms around Billy and gives him a gentle hug. It makes him feel better and worse all at once.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt Steve, Billy,” she starts as she pulls away. “I’ve got to tell you something. But you have to promise you won’t freak out, okay?” Billy just nods in response. He can’t muster up any words right now. “The other night, when you were drunk… You told me that you wanted to kiss Steve.”

Oh. _Oh._ That’s not what Billy fucking expected to hear. He has no memory of ever saying that, but, then again, he doesn’t remember _anything_ about that night. It feels like he’s been fucking punched in the gut. As if he wasn’t panicked enough already. “Listen, kid,” he starts to say, and the tremor in his voice is evident.

Max puts her little hand on Billy’s arm. “I’m not going to tell anyone, Billy,” she says soothingly. “Not my friends, not my mom, not Steve. I won’t tell a soul.”

Billy’s starting to really fucking appreciate Max.

* * *

 

The next morning, Billy doesn’t expect to hear from Steve. He’s resigned himself, now. He’s fucked it up, for good, and that’s that. He’s got to fucking move on from it.

So he’s sincerely surprised when Harrington is knocking on his door dressed for their morning run.

Steve has this look on his face, looks so damn guilty, as though it was him who shoved Billy and _not_ the other way around. “I’m sorry for last night. You told me you didn’t want to drink and I pushed you about it. Max kind of told me on her way out that you aren’t supposed to be drinking. If I knew that, I wouldn’t have persisted,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Forgive me?” he asks, all hopeful and shit.

It’s a relief. It’s such a fucking relief; the feeling is palpable in Billy’s gut. It feels like he can finally breathe and again and _can’t_ breathe, all at the same time. “Yeah,” Billy responds with a gentle smile. Or, he hopes it’s gentle. He’s still got to work on that. He feebly attempts to lighten the situation, “And I’m sorry for shoving you into the fridge, I guess. Hope I didn’t fuck up your hair.”

Steve gives him a shit-eating grin and quips back, “Yeah, I was worried you fucked it up for good, you know? Thought I might wake up and have a mullet or something, God forbid.”

And Billy smiles at that, but then he realizes that that was kind of a subtle jab at _him_. Is his hair horrible? Does Steve _hate_ his fucking hair?

Steve must recognize something on Billy’s face because he’s quickly clarifying, “Not that there’s anything wrong with a mullet, of course. It looks good on you. I just don’t have the face for it.” He punctuates his statement with a wink.

And, really, if Billy didn’t already know the extent of the fucking crush he has on Steve, then the warmth in his stomach at that would certainly let him know.


	10. Boys Don't Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wrestled with whether or not I wanted to post this chapter or if I wanted to write some filler chapters in between before I got to this because everybody's been telling me they love the pacing of the story. But I figured - if this was my original plan, then this is my original plan. So I bring you this chapter.  
> Title is Boys Don't Cry by The Cure, and, yes it's from 1979; so sue me.  
> You know the deal about kudos/comments (;

Billy’s laying on his bed, smoking a cigarette and listening to the radio. He isn’t blasting it, as he is wont to do, cause this right here is all about relaxation. It’s something he’s taken to doing at night, and, often-times, when he’s like this, Steve creeps into his thoughts.

 _Harrington_ , Billy thinks, and a smile spreads on his face as he taps the end of his cigarette against the side of his ash tray. Things have been good, lately. He hasn’t fucked up again yet, and Steve seems to be getting more and more comfortable with him. Billy doesn’t know how it happened but they’re hanging out, and talking on the fucking _phone_ like they’re middle school girls. Steve’s still running with him every morning, and sitting with him at lunch, and asking to come over and shit. They go to the fucking mall together; they do their fucking homework together. Billy helps Steve change the oil in his car. Steve says thanks by buying him a box of fruit roll-ups.

And – all of a sudden – it’s like they’re a fucking team or some shit. If Billy’s there, then it’s likely Steve’s there, too. The kids at school notice, and sometimes they send concerning looks toward Steve, like Billy’s keeping him as a fucking hostage. Nancy even corners Billy in the hallway to ask him what the fuck he did to Steve, but then Steve’s popping up behind them and asking Billy if he wants to come over to listen to the new tapes he got. And then he says hi to Nancy like she’s an afterthought, like he just noticed she’s there, and Billy feels smug as hell about _that_.

And it’s stupid, it’s all so fucking _stupid_ , but it makes Billy happier than he cares to admit. He tries to pretend like he doesn’t give a shit about Steve, tries to be cool about the whole thing, but he has the sneaking suspicion that Harrington knows that he values their friendship.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Susan knocking on his doorway. The panic on her face makes Billy sit up in bed and put out his cigarette. He turns the radio off, too. “What up, Susan?” he asks, and he doesn’t like the look on her face at all.

“Your father…” she starts and of course, of fucking course, just as Billy’s feeling good, Neil’s got to come in and fuck everything up. “He called. He’s demanding that I let him come back home. I told him I won’t let him, but I just wanted to warn you…”

Billy knows it’s a fucking naïve thought, but he asks, “Isn’t he still in police custody?”

Susan shakes her head and sits across from him on his bed. “No, Billy. He’s been out of custody for a while. They couldn’t just keep him there indefinitely.”

“So where the hell has he been?” Billy asks, panic leaking into his voice.

“He’s been living in Chicago, in an apartment.”

The panic is so bad, the tightening in his chest is so _bad_ , because he has to finally admit to himself that, no, his dad isn’t completely out of the picture. He’s tricked himself into thinking lately that he doesn’t have to worry about Neil ever again, and he’s been such a fucking idiot to think that’s the case.

“I won’t let him come back here, Billy,” Susan says, earnestly. “I promise you I won’t let him back into this house.”

But Billy knows that’s not a promise that Susan can make, that his dad has a way of forcing his way into situations and won’t take no for an answer. He tells her this much, and it doesn’t look like she knows what to say in return.

“I’ve got to clear my head. I don’t know when I’m coming back,” Billy explains, grabbing his jacket and his keys. He doesn’t spare another glance in Susan’s direction; he’s got eyes on the front door, on getting out, and nothing is going to stop him from doing that.

* * *

 

When he gets in his car, he guns it all the way to Steve. Harrington is surprised to see him, obviously, when he knocks on the big fucking door to Steve’s house, because he’s in his fucking boxer shorts and a t-shirt, and his hair’s a fucking mess. It looks like he’s either just rolled out of bed or is just about ready to roll _into_ bed. If the desperation weren’t there, if the situation wasn’t so serious, Billy’d probably be smirking at him and teasing him about it, and Steve would probably put his hand on his hip and cock his head and say something sassy as fuck back, and then it’d be the start of a great fucking night.

But the desperation _is_ there. And the situation _is_ serious.

“Are your parents here?” Billy asks, pushing past him and barging into Steve’s house. He walks into the living room and sits down on the couch unceremoniously, burying his face in his hands.

“Well, hello to you, too” Steve says with a smile, closing the door behind him. “And no, my parents are on a business trip,” he clarifies, following Billy into the living room. He stands opposite the couch with his arms crossed. “Mind telling me what’s going on? Are you okay?”  

“My dad,” Billy chokes out, and that’s all he can get out right now. He hopes that Steve can somehow read between the lines on this one.

“I’m going to need a little more information, Billy. What about your dad?” Steve’s asking gently. He knows how to handle Billy, now, knows how to get him to open up without making him feel bad about it.

“He fucking called Susan,” he breathes out, lifting his head up and making eye contact with Steve. “He fucking called Susan and demanded that she let him come home. And he’s going to force his way back into my life, Steve. He’s going to fucking ruin everything!” And, shit, when did he fucking start yelling at the top of his lungs? He’s trying to calm down, trying not to yell at Steve over something that has nothing to do with him, but he can’t help the panic that makes him want to scream and is making his hands shake.

“You can stay here tonight, Billy,” Steve is responding calmly, like Billy wasn’t just yelling at the top of his lungs. And Steve’s so fucking sincere about it. Standing there, in his boxer shorts and a t-shirt, hair a mess, arms crossed and face open and earnest, Steve’s offering him a place to stay.

Steve, who he once almost fucking killed.

Steve, who he’s punched and shoved and insulted.

Steve, who’s got so much good in him that he can see the fucking good in _Billy Hargrove_.

He’s let him into his life, let him be his _friend_ , accepted his apologies even though they don’t come out right, has accepted _him_ even when he’s at his fucking worst.

Billy’s overwhelmed with it, overwhelmed with just how _kind_ Harrington is. Kind, and funny, and beautiful, and probably the best thing that’s ever happened to Billy in his entire fucking life.

And Billy’s standing up. And he’s crossing the room to Steve in two long strides. And, fuck it to hell, he’s grabbing Steve’s face and crashing their lips together in a passionate kiss. He pours everything he’s feeling into it; all the pent-up anger and affection and frustration that he’s been hiding is dumped into the kiss and it’s so raw and rough and just _perfect._

Steve’s lips feel so supple under his, and his face feels so soft, feels like it was made to fit in Billy’s palms. This close, Billy can breathe in the scent of Steve’s shampoo, and it makes his head swim. It’s just as Billy had imagined it, kissing Steve, and probably better.

Until he realizes that Steve’s not kissing back. In fact, Steve’s gone kind of limp, his lips pliant under his but not moving. And suddenly, his senses come back to him and he’s pulling away.

Harrington looks shocked. He keeps opening and closing his mouth like he wants to say something, his eyes wide as hell in an almost cartoonish manner. Billy might have thought it was funny, if it wasn’t for the intense and unadulterated mortification that he’s feeling right now.

He doesn’t stop to think about it. He just fucking gets the hell out of there, running out of the front door and getting into his car. Steve is shouting his name behind him, but he tunes it out; he _has_ to tune it out.

He floors it, leaving Steve behind. His hands are clenching the steering wheel, he feels like he might just throw up, and what he really needs right now is to get black-out drunk.

Yeah, he thinks he’ll do just that.


	11. Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was worried about the last chapter, but the response I got renewed my confidence in the direction the story was taking! Thank you so much to those of you who comment on every chapter - you know who you are. You guys make my day bright and make me feel more confident about myself as a writer! Thank you xx  
> This chapter was a fun one for me to write. It's titled after Running Up That Hill by my girl Kate Bush.   
> Please enjoy!

Billy _does_ get black-out drunk that night, and the next night, too. And then the next night he doesn’t quite black out, but he still gets pretty fucking drunk. In the rare moments when he’s sober over a stretch of these few days, he thinks about how he got himself into this position.

He isn’t going for runs anymore, he isn’t going to school, and he isn’t seeing Liz. He’s not talking to Max or Susan, no matter how many times they bang on his door and beg him to come out of his room. When they knock, he just turns his music up louder and takes another swig of whatever his alcohol of choice is for the night.

He’s started timing everything so he only leaves his room to go to the bathroom or grab food or more booze when Susan and Max are out of the house or asleep. He doesn’t want to have to face them right now. He can barely even look in the fucking mirror when he gets out of the shower and he notices the bags under his eyes and the sallow of his cheeks.

He feels so fucking guilty in the fleeting moments of sobriety that he just wants to drink some more and forget fucking everything. He can’t believe himself. He can’t believe that he fucked everything up so fucking bad, that he fucking _kissed_ Steve.

He knows this is it, that Steve’s probably telling everyone about it, starting with that little Nancy bitch, who he’s probably still in love with. And she’s probably going to tell her boyfriend, who’s going to tell Will, who’s going to tell all of the boys and then Max – and, really, he can only stomach the idea of Max knowing about this.

Steve’s probably rallying up the entire fucking basketball team right now, and they’re probably planning to come over here and fuck him up, because now they all fucking know. They all know he has a fucking weakness for Steve Harrington and he’s as good as dead because of it.

The worst part, Billy thinks, is the fact that the kiss was so _good_ for him. Feeling Steve’s lips against his, his body so close to Billy’s, well it _still_ sends fucking shivers down Billy’s spine just thinking about it. And he feels so fucking dumb for it, because the fucking best kiss of his entire damn life thus far was completely one-sided. Isn’t that pathetic? Steve didn’t even kiss back but it was still more important, more _meaningful_ , than any other intimate exchange that Billy’s ever shared with anybody.

Those kind of thoughts drive him to keep drinking, because he’s a damn fool. He doesn’t know what he was thinking in that moment, if he was thinking at all. He guesses that he _wasn’t_ thinking; he was just feeling. He was so grateful and frustrated and _desperate_ that he couldn’t help himself. He just needed to finally fucking show Harrington how he feels.

He guesses, now, that it doesn’t fucking matter if Neil shows up after all. He’s backtracked on all his progress as it is. He doesn’t care if his dad shows up and knocks it all down. What the fuck is left to knock down anyway? He’s been acting like an asshole to Max and Susan again; he’s been drinking again. He’s knocked _himself_ down.

So, who the fuck cares if Neil comes and fucking kills him? It won’t matter to anyone. It won’t matter to Max and Susan. Fuck, they’ll probably be relieved. And it really won’t matter to _Steve_.

* * *

 

He’s on whiskey shot number three and he’s got a cigarette in his mouth. Quiet Riot is playing and it’s so fucking _loud_. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind – despite his slight inebriation – that he’s being a fucking asshole right now, that people are probably trying to sleep, but he doesn’t fucking care! He just doesn’t fucking care.

There’s a loud, demanding knock at the door and Billy gets up. When he does his head spins a little and, yeah, the booze is finally starting to set the fuck in. He can drink like a fucking champ, and it’s been taking more and more and _more_ to get him to finally fucking feel it these days.

“Fuck off, Max!” he shouts, quickly taking his cigarette out of his mouth to do it. He takes another slow drag.

The pounding on the door continues. Finally, frustrated as fuck, his slams his hand onto the radio and cuts the music to a halt before throwing his door open, drink in hand and cigarette still in his mouth.

“What part of fuck off don’t you - ”and then he realizes. It’s not Max at his door. It’s Steve, looking pissed as hell.   


“You’re drunk,” Steve says, crossing his arms. Billy squints at him. “And you look like shit. Well? What do you have to say?”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Billy bites out. “I’ve only had a few shots. I’m tipsy at best.”

“Do you want to tell me why you’ve been missing our runs every day and skipping school?” Billy scoffs and turns away from Steve, walking back to his radio. He’s about to turn it back on, drown Harrington out and maybe he’ll get the hint and leave, but Harrington is yelling, “Don’t fucking dare!”

Billy doesn’t turn the radio back on. “Max called me, Billy,” Steve starts, and he looks so goddamn disappointed in him that it makes Billy’s chest knot up. “She told me that you’ve been getting drunk every night. You don’t get to fucking do that.”

Billy’s confused. What the fuck does Steve care? “I can do whatever the fuck I want, pretty boy.”

“No,” Steve says, intensely, shaking his head and taking a step closer to Billy. They make eye contact, and Steve holds his gaze. “You see, Billy, you don’t get to fucking do this. You don’t get to kiss me, and turn my whole fucking world upside down, and make me rethink everything about who and what I’m attracted to, and then fucking _leave_ and ignore me for a week. You don’t get to _do_ that.” Billy is stunned. That’s _not_ what he expected to hear. “You don’t get to fucking run away from me like that. So you are going to give it to me straight, right now. You are going to tell me right now what the fuck it is you want from me, or I’m leaving and I’m not coming back.”

He’s so scared, so fucking terrified, and Billy knows what he wants to say – he wants to tell Harrington that he’s so important to him, and that Billy is so _bad_ at this, this feelings shit, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. But he doesn’t say any of that. He just shrugs.

Steve huffs and runs a hand through his hair. “What, do you just want a quick fuck? Just want to get it out of your system?” and Billy is shaking his head _no_ furiously. No, he doesn’t want that; he doesn’t think he possibly _can_ get Steve out of his system. “What, do you want to take me out on a date?”

Billy just gapes. Steve walks closer to him, gets up in his face, and says, harshly, “If you want to take me out on a date, then fucking ask me out on a date.” And just as quickly as he appeared, Steve is gone, and Billy’s left alone to fucking consider _that_ bombshell.

_If you want to take me out on a date, then fucking ask me out on a date._

But is it really that easy? Could it _possibly_ be that fucking easy?


	12. Add it Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't originally exist, but then I decided I wanted it here so... here ya go  
> Chapter title is Add it Up by Violent Femmes. It relates less to what the chapter is about and more to what Billy is feeling.   
> please leave kudos/comments and as always enjoy the chapter (:

 The next day, Billy drags himself out of bed and gets ready. He tries to ignore the fact that he feels like actual dog shit, but he isn’t doing a very good job of it. After he’s thrown on some clothes, he braces himself and opens his door, and struts into the kitchen like the past few days haven’t even fucking happened.

“Good morning, guys,” he says casually, even though Max and Susan look stunned sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. It’s almost comical. “Is there any more coffee?”

Susan just nods, slowly, and Billy pours himself a cup. He rummages through the medicine cabinet and finds himself some aspirin, and washes the pills down with a nice sip of black coffee. Hopefully, that’ll make him feel a little bit more alive.

He sits down with Max and Susan and says, “I’ll start taking Max to school and picking her up again.” He takes another sip of his coffee and, just like that, all seems to be forgiven. Max smiles at him shyly from across the table and he offers a smile in return.

* * *

 

The second they get in the car, though, gone are Max’s shy smiles. Now that Susan isn’t there to see it, she’s fucking _pissed_ , and she looks like she’s about to chew Billy the fuck out. Billy deserves it, he knows, so he doesn’t go on the defensive. He just sits and waits for it.  

“What happened?” she asks, her eyes wild as she spins and looks at Billy. “Well?” she presses, when he doesn’t say anything in return. And it’s not like he wants to blow her off, but he’s wrestling with himself here. Does he want to come up with some bullshit to appease her, or does he want to tell her the damn truth? “Billy, you can trust me.”

And she’s right. He _can_ trust her. She’s proven that to him, through all of this, that he can trust her with his fucking life. He can trust her to call the cops, to protect him, even when he’s fucking horrible to her. He can trust her to push him into pushing himself. He can trust her to be there when he falls off the wagon. He can trust her to not go running her mouth about something stupid he said when he was drunk.

Through all this bullshit, he’s really been only considering Steve as his support system, ignoring that Max is his support _too._ Maybe because it’s cause she’s just a kid, or whatever. But it’s true – she’s been there for him, so fierce in her loyalty, that he owes her this. He owes her an explanation.

“Remember the other day, when you were at Lucas’ house? And then Susan ended up picking you up instead of me?” he asks, taking a turn.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, your mom told me that Neil called her. Asked to come home.”

“Oh,” Max says, deflating. “Billy, I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

“That’s not it, kid,” he cuts her off with a laugh. “I wish that was fucking it.”

“Okay,” she responds, crossing her arms. “So what else _was_ it?”

“I was upset, so I went to Steve’s. And I might have kissed him.”

“You _kissed_ Steve?” Max shouts, and she doesn’t sound shocked. No, she kind of sounds… excited?

Billy chuckles and shakes his head. “Wanna say that a little louder, kiddo? I couldn’t hear you.”

Max just rolls her eyes. “So why did you shut yourself up in your room over that? Shouldn’t you guys be running off together now or something?”

“No,” Billy responds, sighing. “He didn’t kiss me back. I didn’t even wait to see what he had to say. I just wanted to get drunk.”

“Well, that’s not _fair_ ,” Max quips. “You basically made his decision for him. Maybe he would have surprised you.”

And yeah, that’s kind of in line with what Steve had said last night, how Billy didn’t get to _do_ that, didn’t get to kiss him and run off like that.

_If you want to take me out on a date, then fucking ask me out on a date._

“I don’t know, kid,” Billy sighs. “Steve’s too nice. I think he would have just gone easy on me. I don’t want him to pretend to like me or something just because he doesn’t want me to lose my shit again.”

“You _have_ to stop doing that,” Max huffs, shaking her head. “You have to stop convincing yourself that when people are nice to you it’s just because they don’t want you to get mad.” Billy doesn’t have anything to say to that. “You _know_ that I’m not just nice to you because I don’t want you to get mad, right? You’ve proven to me that you’re a good guy, under all that tough BS. You’re my brother and I love you.”

Billy wants to fucking cry at that. That’s probably the sweetest thing he’s ever heard Max say, and it just makes him feel even guiltier about the drinking binge he’s been on. “I love you, too, kid,” he responds gently, with a small smile. “But I don’t think Steve’s too pleased with me right now.”

“Well, he was at the house last night, right? What did he say?”

Billy sucks in a breath of air and pushes a curly tendril of hair out his eyes. “He told me that he was mad that I ran off. And then he told me that if I wanted to date him, then I should ask him out on a date.”

Max whips her head toward him and slaps him on the arm. “Billy! Why are you such an idiot?”

Billy cocks an eyebrow. “Max, cool it; I’m _driving_. _”_

“If a guy tells you to _ask_ him on a date, then he _wants_ to go on a date.”

“Eh, I don’t know…” Billy trails off, sighing. “He could just be-”

“What, leading you on?” Max interjects. “Do you honestly think that Steve’s the kind of guy who’d do something like that to you? You’re his closest friend, Billy. I don’t think he’d do that to you.”

And Billy _hopes_. He hopes so hard that she’s right.

* * *

 

That day at school, he avoids everyone; during lunch _and_ his free period, he just sits in the most remote bathroom of the school and smokes. When he sees Steve in a hallway he walks the exact opposite way, even if it means he’s walking away from his class. Thankfully, Liz stays confined to her office, because if she was roaming the school then he’d really be fucked.

He sits in the middle school parking lot, waiting to pick Max up, and he’s hyperaware of the fact that Steve’s there in his car too. He ignores him, keeps a laser focus on his fucking lap, so he’s startled when there’s a knock on his window and Dustin is there, gesturing for him to roll his window down.   


“What do you want kid?” he asks gruffly.

“What’s going on with you and Steve?” Dustin demands, and _shit_ , when did Billy become such a fucking focus of all these kids’ minds?

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I’m _going_ to worry about it, okay? Steve’s like my big bro and you’re his best friend, and I can’t stand to see him moping around! So you’re going to pull your head out of your ass and fix this!” and Dustin doesn’t even let him respond, he’s just walking away, back to Steve’s car.

The old him would have gotten out of the car and pummeled the kid. Now, he just kind of shakes his head and finds himself smiling kind of fondly.

 _Jesus_ , he’s gone soft.


	13. Just Like Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I certainly enjoyed writing it.  
> Title is named for Just Like Heaven by The Cure.

 “Well, look who’s back from the dead!” Liz says, smirking behind her desk.

Billy does a dramatic little spin and says, “Just call me Lazarus.”

“Where have you been, Billy?” she asks as he plops down into the chair across from her. _Fuck it_ , he thinks. And he tells her everything.

He tells her that Neil was trying to move back home. He tells her about what he did, how he kissed Steve and it fucking broke him. And he tells her about the drinking binge he’s been on.

He’s got to give the bitch a lot of credit, because she doesn’t even look affected at all by what Billy has said. She just smiles and listens and acts like Billy _didn’t_ just tell her he kissed a guy.

“I just don’t know what to do, you know? I feel kind of guilty about falling off the wagon. Max and Susan don’t seem upset with me but still,” he admits.

“Well,” Liz starts and she’s all kind eyes and gentle words. “It seems like you are looking for a punishment, or for another thing to add onto your road to wellness. But it’s okay to have bumps in the road, and, honestly, you haven’t had that many thus far. You’ve made so much progress, Billy, and you should probably be looking to _reward_ yourself, not punish yourself. So, what is something that you want more than anything else? Why not let yourself have it?”

Billy knows what he wants.

* * *

 

At lunch, Billy notices that Steve is once again sitting with Nancy and Jonathan, and _ouch_ , that fucking hurts to see. He hopes that Steve’s just trying to give him space, hopes that he’s not still upset about what happened. Billy makes eye contact with him and gestures toward their table, and hopefully Harrington will take the hint.

Luckily, he does, and soon he’s dumping all his shit on the table and sitting down. “What’s up?” he asks with a smile, all casual and warm, like the other day didn’t even fucking happen. He’s got this thick green jumper on and tight-fitting khakis to match. It makes Billy want to sink into the floor.

Billy smiles meekly and tries to steel his nerves. He’s got to fucking do this. Liz told him to let himself have something he wants, and he can’t help but remember what Steve said to him.

_If you want to take me out on a date, then fucking ask me out on a date._

 “I want to take you on a date,” he blurts, and it’s shaky and rushed and not cool and collected like he wants it to fucking be. Why is he so smooth with fucking bitches he doesn’t give two shits about, but the second something actually _matters_ he’s a fumbling idiot?

Steve doesn’t seem to mind his inadequacy, because he’s got a big goofy grin on his face when he says, “You want to try asking me, not telling me?”

Billy rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Steve hums and pretends to fucking think about it, the tease, before he finally has pity on poor Billy and says, “Sure, Hargrove. I’ll go on a date with you.”

And _Jesus_ , that feels good to hear.

* * *

 

That Friday night, he picks Steve up at his house and as he sits in the Camaro waiting, he surveys himself one last time in the mirror. His hair looks good, his clothes look good, and he smells good. Everything will be okay.

Steve comes out of the house and Billy thinks that he looks good enough to eat. His hair looks perfect – _but really, when does it not?_ He’s wearing a coat that Billy’s never seen, this long, double-buttoned navy coat in a thick wool. Billy may or may not feel a little underdressed in just his black denim jacket.

Date etiquette suddenly dawns on him and he’s rushing out of his seat and running to the other side of the car so he can open the passenger door before Steve makes it down the walkway from his front door. Steve’s beaming at him too, has been smiling like an idiot since he started walking toward the car.

Billy clears his throat once Steve is right near him. “You look… really nice,” he says, with a genuine smile.

Is that a little blush on Harrington’s cheeks? “You too,” he responds before getting in the car. Billy walks back around and gets in, turning the key and feeling the car rumble beneath him.

He’s acutely aware, in this small space, of just how _good_ Steve smells. He almost wants to ask him what kind of cologne he’s wearing, but he wonders if that’s a little too much.

“So, what’s the plan?” Steve asks once they start driving. He’s bouncing a little in his seat, and Billy thinks it’s the cutest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

“Harrington, have I got the cheesiest fucking night planned for you,” he teases, with a big smile. His cheeks are hurting with how much he’s been smiling all day. “We are going to dinner, and then we are going to see a movie.”

“Wow, you really know how to treat a lady, Billy,” Steve asks, batting his eyelashes and raising his voice to a high falsetto. “I hope you know I don’t kiss before marriage.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy crumbles, taking a turn. “Too fucking late. I’m sorry about that, by the way. Shouldn’t have sprung that on you.”

Steve gets all quiet and serious, and Billy probably shouldn’t have said that, but he kind of felt like he needed to get it out there. “It’s okay. I’m glad you did it.”

Billy accepts that.

“So, you ever been with a guy before?” Steve asks, suddenly, and if Billy were drinking something he’d probably have spit it out all over his dashboard.

“Uh, no, I’ve never been with one before,” Billy starts, uncomfortably. “I’ve always been attracted to them, I think, but never wanted to do anything about it until now.” Steve looks fucking pleased-as-pie with that. “You?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever been into guys before,” and then Billy’s thoughts start traveling a mile a minute. _Shit_. Steve’s not into guys, so what’s the fucking point of this? Is this just some big fucking joke to him?

 Steve must see Billy’s face fall, must see all the doubt and trepidation rolling around in Billy’s head, because he’s quickly putting a hand on Billy’s thigh and clarifying, “But I’m into you.”

* * *

 

Once they get to the restaurant, Billy wants to pull out Steve’s chair and order for him and all that shit, but he figures the people in this town are probably not too open minded about two dudes going on a date with each other. So he just sits down, and Steve probably understands.

They both order the same damn thing, funnily enough, and as they sit and eat they just kind of shoot the shit like they always do. It doesn’t feel forced or unnatural; it just feels like another lunch with Harrington only he doesn’t have to control his smiles or his lingering gazes at Steve’s face.

“So, you picked a good movie?” Steve asks, sipping his drink. Billy doesn’t really even know what’s playing right now – February isn’t the greatest time for movies – and he figured he’d just wing it when he got there.

“Yeah, you’ll see,” the blonde responds, and that’s probably fucking dumb – seeing as no, he has not picked a movie, so no, he doesn’t know if it’s good or not - but what the hell?

After they’ve finished eating, the waitress drops their check off and Steve reaches for it. Billy snatches it away before he can and just shakes his head. “No way in hell you’re paying, pretty boy. I’m the one taking _you_ out.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Steve throws back with a huff. “It’s 1985. We should be progressive like the kids do and go dutch.”

“No, no,” Billy says. “Believe it or not, but I’m a fucking traditionalist. If you want to ask _me_ to go out, you feel free to pay all you want. But I’m taking _you_ out, so I’m paying.”

“Um, Billy,” Steve says, laughing. “We’re two men on a date. I think traditional is out of the picture.”

* * *

 

When they get to the theatre, Billy glances up at the board with all the movie titles, and he notices some movie with the word lust in the title, so, yeah, that’s the one he’s picking. “Two tickets to, uh, _Lust in the Dust_ ,” and the kid giving out the tickets snickers to himself. Steve raises his eyebrows at the title, and Billy’s probably fucked up, but whatever.

The second they get into the theatre, Steve is bounding up the stairs – two at a time – to sit in the very back row. “Really Harrington? You’re one of _those_ people?”

And Steve doesn’t even respond, he’s just excitedly moving to the two middle seats in the back row. They are the only ones in the entire fucking theatre and the previews have already started, so maybe this wasn’t such a good pick.

When the movie starts, Billy knows he’s fucked up. “Is that lady played by a dude?” Steve asks, laughing.

“Billy, what the fuck is this movie?” Steve asks as the dude-lady bursts out into song. Steve turns his head toward Steve and the open fucking happiness makes Billy's heart skip a beat. Steve doesn't seem angry at all with Billy, just incredibly fucking entertained with this whole situation. _Lust in the Dust_ is easily the most ridiculous fucking film Billy's ever seen in his entire damn life. “Didn’t you read a review?” Steve’s questioning him, giggles escaping.

“No,” Billy admits, sheepishly. “I just picked it out at the ticket booth. I saw lust in the title and I figured, what the fuck?”

Steve can’t stop fucking laughing his ass off, and maybe Billy thinks it’s a little hilarious, too. “I can’t believe you took me to a movie starring a fucking drag queen.”

Billy’d probably feel worse about it, but Steve’s reaching over and clasping his hand, their fingers intertwining, as he laughs at the screen.

Steve’s hand feels perfect in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look up Lust in the Dust on Youtube and picture Billy and Steve holding hands in the back row of a movie theatre watching it and tell me if you lose your shit because same


	14. Halo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to all of my readers who celebrate it! I am thankful for the lovely comments and the amount of kudos/hits I've gotten on this story. The response has really been a surprise to me (:  
> As a little holiday gift, with this chapter we increase the rating to E and that's where it stays. (:  
> Also, I finished writing this story last night!! There ended up being 22 chapters in all.   
> Title is Halo by Depeche Mode.

And that’s how dates become a common occurrence in Steve and Billy’s routine. They meet for morning runs, they eat lunch together, and _now_ they go on fucking dates as often as they can. Sometimes they make it casual and spontaneous, and sometimes one of them will plan shit out in advance.

Today, they’ve opted to just hang out with the kids at the arcade. Steve is playing DuckHunt, and Billy’s content just to hover and watch him. He keeps throwing little jabs at him as he’s playing, and fucking making stupid faces to distract him. He knows it’s goofy, he knows it’s not fucking cool at all, but he honestly doesn’t give a shit.

Billy does something particularly distracting – he’s sticking his tongue out - and Steve loses, and he’s turning toward him with a pout. “Okay, you owe me my money for that game, you ass,” Steve says, playfully, and Billy just fucking laughs. They’re standing so close to each other and making eye contact and Billy feels so fucking _good_.

Steve excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and Max walks over. “Dustin beat your score in DigDug yet?” Billy asks, leaning up against the DuckHunt cabinet and glaring at anyone who dares approach it to play.

“Nah,” Max says, hands in her pockets. “You and Steve are together, aren’t you?”

Billy’s eyes go wide. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh please,” Max responds, scoffing. “He looks at you just like you look at him, and you look at him with a _lot_ of affection, Billy. And I saw your little staring contest from across the room.”

“Keep quiet about it, you got it?” Billy asks, shaking his head. “But, yeah, we’re together, I guess. We’ve been going on dates and shit. But we haven’t done anything yet.”

“Ugh,” Max gags, a disgusted look on her face. “I do not want to think about you and Steve ‘doing anything’.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Oh, please, Max. Some people are in adult relationships, you know.”

“Okay, so if you’re in such an _adult_ relationship,” Max challenges with a smirk, “then why _haven’t_ you done anything yet, huh?”

And that’s a good fucking question. Billy _wants_ to do anything – everything – with Steve, but they haven’t so much as kissed since they’ve started whatever it is they’ve started. Billy still kind of feels like Steve isn’t really into it like _that_ , isn’t into it as much as Billy is, so he doesn’t want to initiate something and have Steve be uncomfortable with it. He doesn’t want to push Steve into doing anything he doesn’t want to do, even if it _does_ mean that Billy’s got major blue balls as a result.

He’s about to come up with a smart comment back, but Steve is returning from the bathroom and Max is going back to the rest of the boys to kick their asses in DigDug once again.

* * *

 

Susan agrees to pick up the kids from the arcade so Billy and Steve can go right back to Steve’s place, under the guise of having to do a school project or some shit. Billy thinks that Susan is onto them, that she knows they don’t really have a fucking school project to do, but at least she didn’t call him out on his bullshit.

Steve and Billy are still in their separate cars, though, so Billy follows him on the road, tailing him the entire way because _goddamn_ Steve drives like a grandma.

They walk up to the house together, and the tension is fucking palpable for Billy. Steve’s parents aren’t home, on some fucking business trip again or whatever, and Billy’s got to breathe in deeply so he doesn’t do something he fucking regrets.

The second Steve’s in the house, he closes the door and then promptly shoves Billy into it and captures his lips in a kiss. Jesus. _Jesus._ Billy’s nerves are singing, because Steve fucking Harrington is kissing him, and this time Billy knows he’s fucking into it cause Steve initiated the damn thing.

If kissing Steve when he was unresponsive was amazing, then this kiss feels like Billy’s died and gone to fucking heaven. Steve’s got one hand on Billy’s neck and the other at Billy’s hip, and he’s kissing him so fucking slow and deep that Billy feels like he’s being taken apart and stitched back together again.

In a brazen move, Billy licks Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve is parting his lips to let him in, and then suddenly, fucking _beautifully_ , their tongues are entwining. Steve’s moaning now, tiny sounds catching in the back of his throat, and Billy’s hands are reaching down to grab Steve’s ass through his jeans. Billy’s so hard it fucking hurts, his cock heavy and throbbing between his legs.

Steve pulls away, gasping for breath, and presses his forehead against Billy’s. “Mind telling me why that’s the first time we’ve kissed since we got together?” he asks, voice hushed and intense.

Billy doesn’t want to speak loud and ruin the mood, so he murmurs back, “Didn’t want to force you into anything, princess.”

And then Steve’s moving forward a bit, and their hips line up, and Billy feels the clothed hardness against his own and he tips back his head, sighing. “Does this,” Steve gasps out, beginning to grind his hips slightly, “does this feel like you’re forcing me into anything?”

Billy just grabs the back of Steve’s neck and mutters, “C’mere,” before he’s joining their lips together again. It’s not as slow and calculated as Steve’s kiss; this one’s more desperate and sloppy, all tongues and teeth, and Steve is _really_ fucking moaning now as their dicks grind together through their jeans.

Billy doesn’t want to cum in his pants like a fucking virgin, so he reaches down and starts to unbutton Steve’s jeans, not breaking their kiss. They need to breathe, though, and when they break for air Billy starts trailing kisses down Steve’s neck, latching onto his jugular and sucking on his skin. He pushes Steve’s jeans and boxers down past his hips, and finally, _finally_ , grabs onto his cock and begins to stroke it delicately, moving from base to tip in a teasing rhythm.

“Fuck, _Billy,_ ” Steve breathes out, his head tipping back, and Billy’s so fucking hard he’s lightheaded. Steve reaches down to unbutton Billy’s jeans and push them down, and that’s when he notices that Billy’s gone fucking _commando_. “Jesus, Billy, no underwear?” Steve asks, trailing off into a whimper as Billy tightens his grip on his cock the slightest bit. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

And then Steve is grabbing Billy’s cock, too, and his blue eyes roll back in his head. “Oh fuck,” he sighs before kissing Steve’s lips again, and as they start stroking each other faster, egging each other on, it becomes less of a kiss and more like they’re just breathing into each other’s mouths.

Steve’s moaning like a fucking porn star and Billy’s getting closer and closer to the edge. “Steve,” he gasps out, clutching at Steve’s arm with the hand that he’s not using. “Steve, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum, baby. I want to see you cum for me,” Steve’s whispering, and Billy’s a fucking goner. He throws his head back, and it hits the door behind him with a thud, but he doesn’t fucking _care_. Ropes of cum are shooting out of him and his vision is cloudy, and is that _him_ moaning like that?

His hand on Steve stills, he’s so fucking overwhelmed, but then Steve whimpers, “Please, Billy, I need to cum,” and Billy remembers that Steve still needs to finish, too. And he’s kissing Steve again, and throwing everything into making him fucking fall apart, and it doesn’t take long before Steve is whining into the kiss and cumming too. Billy feels him throbbing in his hand as he finishes, and _fuck_ if that’s not the hottest thing he’s ever felt.

They stand like that, leaning against the door and kissing in their post-orgasmic state. Their kisses are lazy now, relaxed and so fucking open.

Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get enough of this.


	15. Don't Dream It's Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for only updating once yesterday. I was going to upload when I got home from Thanksgiving festivities but then I got pretty sloshed so you know how it goes  
> This chapter is named after Don't Dream It's Over by Crowded House.   
> I hope you enjoy!

Things are going so well for Billy and Steve that it’s almost like Billy forgets everything that’s ever fucking upset him in his life. Being with Steve, being with him as a best friend and a _boyfriend_ (that’s a thing they’ve settled on, now) and a lover – even if they haven’t actually gone all the way, yet – is like being on a constant high, only it’s not bad for you. It’s good for you, it enriches you, and it makes you feel _alive_.

It’s made Billy so fucking happy, made him feel like a genuine fucking person and not a shell like he was before. So, of course, something has to fuck it all up.

They’re sitting together in this little diner outside of town, huddled together in a booth. Usually they’d sit across from each other, but the fact that they haven’t gone out in a few days, the fact that they aren’t in Hawkins, prompts them to sit close to each other on the same side of the booth, heads close together as they share a milkshake and fries like something out of a goddamn movie.

They’re murmuring to each other, soft words that make Billy smile. The little bell above the diner door that signals that someone is entering rings, but they don’t even notice. They’re facing away from the door, so it startles the both of them when a man is walking up to their table and sliding into the seat across from them like he fucking owns the place.

Billy looks up and it feels like he’s falling off a fucking ten story building. His breath is catching, and the hair on the back of his neck is standing up, and he’s spiraling – he’s falling, falling, falling, down into a place he hasn’t been in fucking months, down to a low he hasn’t been since he was lying on the floor of his dining room and getting the shit kicked out of him.

Neil Hargrove is sitting across from him.

“Son,” he starts, and Steve tenses up, too. Ah, that’s right; Steve’s never had the pleasure of meeting Billy’s pile of shit of a father, so he’s probably just now realizing who this is. “Funny running into you here.”

Billy doesn’t say anything. He just clenches his jaw and tries to remember everything Liz has ever fucking told him about his dad, about dealing with all the shit that he’s caused. He tries to remember Steve smiling at him while they go for a run, or putting his arm around him in the dark as they and the kids watch a movie together. He tries to remember all this, tries to lift himself up, but he’s having a tough fucking time as he’s forced to stare into his father’s eyes for the first time in what seems like forever.

Steve can feel him tensing up, can sense what he’s thinking – Steve has a way of doing that, a way of reading Billy’s mind sometimes – and he’s laying a delicate hand on Billy’s forearm. That’s when Billy realizes that his hands are shaking violently. His vision is blurring and his head doesn’t feel like it’s on straight anymore.

“Do you want to tell me why, son,” Neil starts, leaning forward in his seat and glaring at Billy, “it is that you are currently sitting huddled up with this boy, sharing a milkshake and touching each other like a couple of _faggots_?”

That’s fucking it. That’s all Billy can fucking take of this. There are tears in his eyes, but they aren’t tears of sadness. They’re fucking tears of pure rage and hate and hell-fire. “I’ll tell you why, _Neil_ ,” Billy spits out, fucking quiet and seething. “Because this is my boyfriend, Steve.”

Neil looks genuinely fucking surprised at that and he just kind of gapes in response. Steve lets out an audible gasp and his grip tightens on Billy’s arm. Billy wants to fucking get up and kill Neil. But he’s not going to do that. That would be something that Neil would do to fix this. And Billy’s _not_ Neil. “You are going to leave now,” Billy says, calmly. “You are going to leave, and you are never going to contact me ever again, or I am going to call the cops and I am going to take you to court and you are going to be locked away for a long fucking time. Am I clear?”

Neil just shakes his head and spits, “Fucking queers,” before he’s getting up and storming out of the diner.

Did that just fucking happen?

* * *

 

On the car ride home, as Billy’s driving and Steve is sitting there in silence, it occurs to Billy that he just made a big fucking mistake. His dad isn’t going to let this go. He’s going to fucking track them down and he’s going to fucking kill Steve and make Billy watch.

Billy just fucking _outed_ them, and they’ve never talked about telling anyone before, let alone his fucking psychopath father. He’s got to do something about this. He’s got to end things with Steve. He can’t fucking drag Steve down with him. Steve’s too good and pure for this, for _Billy_ , and Billy doesn’t know how he hasn’t seen it before. His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he drives a little faster, and Steve looks panicked.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern evident in the tone of his voice.

Billy’s about to fucking cry, tears are welling up, and he spits, “Fuck off.”

Steve sighs and says, “Pull over, Billy.” Billy ignores him. He’s not about to let Steve walk home, even if he is being a complete asshole right now. “Pull the fuck over!”

Billy’s tires screech as he makes a quick maneuver and pulls over to the right shoulder of the road. It’s only now that the car has stopped that he realizes how fucking loud his breathing is, even to his own ears.

“Look at me,” Steve demands, and Billy just fucking ignores him. It’s so petty and childish, but Billy doesn’t know what else to do. “Look at me, baby, please,” Steve’s saying, gentle now, and the pet name makes Billy actually fucking follow his direction. The second they make eye contact and Billy sees that all the rage that he expected to see in Steve’s brown eyes isn’t fucking there, and all that _is_ there is kindness and concern, the tears spill over and he’s sniffling like a fucking bitch.

“Don’t do this,” Steve says, reaching out for Billy’s cheek and wiping away a tear. “Don’t shut me out. Don’t get lost in that head of yours, okay? I’m here, and I’m _real_ , and I’m not upset with you, okay?” Billy nods weakly, and his bottom lip is trembling now. “I am with you. I don’t care if what just happened sends you back to square one, okay? I don’t care if you get mad at me, or you fucking yell, or you punch a wall or something. Just please don’t shut me out. I’m here, and I’m so fucking proud of you, Billy. So goddamned proud of how you just handled that.”

And, shit, Harrington is getting emotional, too, and then they’re kissing across the center console, and maybe, just maybe, it’s going to be okay.


	16. A Question of Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy am I glad that this is all pre-written, because I felt like dog shit today. Here are a couple tips for the young-ins who want to drink: don't mix your drinks, don't not drink water, and whatever you do, DO NOT, under any circumstances, let people convince you to take shots of wine because you are out of whiskey. I did all of those things last night, and I am sad today as a result - sadder than Steve when his Farrah Fawcett spray runs out.  
> Anyway, this is the longest chapter of the entire fic, and one of the toughest to write. You'll see why (;  
> The title is A Question of Lust by Depeche Mode.  
> Please enjoy

It’s been a couple of weeks since the encounter with Neil in the diner, and Billy’s still a little on edge. Steve’s been so good about it, so patient whenever Billy snaps at something, or gets frustrated with himself, or even when Billy refuses to go out in public together other than for runs because he’s so fucking _terrified_ that they’re going to encounter Neil again and he’s going to hurt Steve.  

Steve finally, _finally_ convinces Billy to go out, to fucking enjoy himself, and they do – they go to see some battle of the bands in the next town over, and the bands suck, for the most part, but they dance and they enjoy themselves. It’s a little warmer now, it being March already, and Billy’s finally able to get away with wearing just a denim jacket and have it be comfortable – not that it hasn’t stopped him before. And Steve’s retired his winter coats for this new – kind of obnoxious, in Billy’s opinion – bomber jacket with a freaking embroidered rose on the back.

When the concert is done, they walk back to Billy’s car, parked a couple streets over, and they’re laughing and talking the whole way. Billy wants to hold Steve’s fucking hand, and it sucks they can’t just do that wherever they want.

When they get to the car, Steve gasps, and Billy feels like he’s going to fucking puke. His tires are slashed – every _single_ one of them – expensive tires that he had to fucking work all last summer to save up the money for. And there’s a note, too, on his windshield, tucked neatly under the wiper blade.

Steve grabs the note and opens it as Billy inspects the damage on his right front tire. “Fucking shit,” Steve grumbles as he shoves the note in Billy’s face. “Baby, look at this shit.”

_A gift for my faggot son._

Billy looks up at Steve, and Steve’s got this look on his face, this look like he’s about ready to murder someone.

In that moment, standing there looking at his slashed tires and Steve’s angry expression, Billy realizes that his dad is a fucking coward. His dad is a fucking coward prick, who’s got nothing better to do then to slash his son’s tires and leave a fucking note about it. He didn’t even wait there to confront him.

It’s like Billy’s able to relax, now. Everything he was carrying on his shoulders, all the anxiety and the worry and the fucking _dread_ is almost gone, and he feels about 20 pounds lighter.

Billy knows, now, that he’s got more bravery, more courage in his pinky finger than his dad’s got in his entire fucking body. His dad is a weak, pitiful, homophobic asshole, and Billy’s done fucking wasting his energy thinking about him. Billy can’t live his fucking life on the defense, waiting for his dad to strike.

Billy thinks about this in pensive silence as Steve goes to the nearest payphone to call a towing company. The mechanic that the company tows the Camaro to has tires for sale, but Billy doesn’t have the fucking money for that, tells him as much. So he’s a bit surprised when the mechanic starts fucking putting the tires on anyway, and when he turns to ask Steve what’s going on, Steve’s fucking signing a credit card receipt.

* * *

 

The next day they march down to the police station and Hopper looks a little surprised to see them together. “Hargrove and Harrington,” he starts, crossing his arms. “Don’t tell me there’s a problem between you guys again.”

Billy and Steve share a smile with each other and Steve says, “No, no problems between us. But we do have to file a police report.” He pulls the note from Neil out of his pocket and shoves it toward Hopper. “Someone slashed Billy’s tires last night, and this was on the windshield.”

Hopper reads the note and his eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “You kids should have called in last night. The tires still on the car?”

“Nah, we went to a shop, got them replaced.”

“Shit,” Hopper says, scratching his chin. “I’m going to be straight with you boys. There isn’t much I can do for you on this.”

“What are you talking about? His dad _slashed_ his tires! His abusive, shit-head dad!” Steve’s getting more and more worked up about it by the second, and, for once, Billy feels more level-headed about this than Steve. He didn’t even want to come here, didn’t know what it’d even do, but Steve had persisted.

“Well, the burden of proof here is an issue. We can’t prove that it _was_ Billy’s dad, especially since you replaced the tires and didn’t immediately file a police report.”

“But we have a note!” Steve is snatching the note from Hopper and waving it in his face. “This has got to count for something!”

“We also can’t prove that he wrote that note. It’s just a sticky situation all around. Other than filing for a protective order, Billy, there isn’t much we can do about it. Maybe we could also try to get you legally emancipated, since you’re a minor.”

Billy shakes his head. “Nah, I’m not a minor. Turned 18 a couple of weeks ago, on the 25th.”

Steve’s head is whipping toward Billy and he’s fucking gawking. “Your birthday was a couple weeks ago? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want you to know.”

Hopper raises his eyebrows again and shakes his head. “Okay, you kids can have your marital issues some other time. Billy, if you decide you want a protective order, we’d have to go to court with it. Is that something you’d want?”

Billy sighs and considers it. _No_ , that’s _not_ something he’d want. He feels like that’d just exacerbate the situation. And Billy’s heard shit, knows that those fucking protective orders do jack.

“No, I don’t think so,” he responds. “Thanks, though.”

“Okay, I get it,” the chief responds, tapping Billy on the arm. “But if anything comes up again, call right away. That way we can come down, investigate the situation.”

“Got it, chief,” Billy snarks, and Steve still hasn’t said anything. They walk out of the police station in silence, but once they get in the Camaro, Steve breaks it.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday? Don’t you think I’d care to know something like that?”

Billy starts the car and pulls out of his spot. Once he’s on the road he lets out a breath of air and explains, “I’ve never been the birthday type. Got bad memories associated with the day.”

“You can talk to me about it,” Steve responds gently, placing a hand on Billy’s leg. Billy takes his right hand off the steering wheel and clasps Steve’s hand in his.

“I know, princess. But I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t _need_ to talk about it, not anymore, okay? Don’t take it personally.”

* * *

 

They are lazing about, laying on Steve’s bed and passing a cigarette back and forth between them. “How are you so cool about this shit with your dad?” Steve asks, turning his head toward Billy.

“I guess I just feel like I don’t have anything to be scared of anymore.” Billy sucks in a puff of the cigarette and hands it back to Steve. He stares at the ceiling as he continues, “I realized something last night. My dad’s not a fucking mythical creature, you know? He’s just a dude. He’s a guy who’s such a fucking coward that he beat his son into submission for 14 years, and then, as soon as his son stands up to him for once, all he can fucking do is slash some tires. It’s really pathetic, if you think about it.”

Steve turns onto his side, leaning on his hand. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

It still makes Billy feel a little bit shy every time Steve calls him that, but he loves to hear it. Loves to know that he’s _Steve’s._ Billy snatches the cigarette away from Steve and rolls over, shoving it into the ashtray.

And then he’s turning toward Steve again and crashing their lips together. It’s so fucking good; it’s always _so_ fucking good when he kisses Steve. He starts off slow and chaste, just pressing their lips together over and over until clearly Steve has had enough of that, because he’s tangling his hand in the curls at the nape of Billy’s neck and swiping his tongue along Billy’s bottom lip. Billy parts his lips, lets Steve in, and then their tongues are slowly rubbing together.

The kiss is so fucking deep and slow that Billy doesn’t even want to breathe too loud and ruin the moment. But then Steve breaks the silence with a tiny moan, and Billy’s so fucking turned on it’s ridiculous.

Steve pulls away from the kiss, hair askew and pupils blown, and looks into Billy’s eyes as he whispers, “I want you to fuck me.”

The blonde breathes out a fucking _groan_ at the thought, the gravity of that, and brings their lips together again. It’s more desperate now, more frantic, and Steve’s fucking spreading his legs and pulling Billy on top of him. Billy pulls away and has to ask, needs to know for _sure_ , “You really want that?”

And Steve’s nodding and fucking pulling Billy back down and kissing him again, and Billy’s dick is starting to hurt in his tight jeans.

“Off,” Steve mutters into the kiss as he pulls at the hem of Billy’s shirt, and Billy pulls away and quickly takes off his shirt. The second it’s off Steve is running his hands teasingly along Billy’s abdomen, and tracing a hand up to tweak one of his nipples. It makes Billy gasp and reach for Steve’s shirt, pulling it up and off him, too.

Billy can’t fucking help it; he bends down and latches his mouth onto Steve’s neck, and then he’s trailing little kisses down his neck and to his nipple. He licks a flat line over one nipple as he pinches the other, and he fucking relishes the pleased sigh that Steve lets out at that. He can’t fucking help but cant his hips forward slightly, grinding his hardness against the bed.

And then he’s fumbling open Steve’s pants and pulling them down, and he’s so fucking impatient that he’s taking the boxers along with them. This is something he’s never fucking done before – Steve’s done it for him a couple of times – so he’s nervous about it, but he’s also so fucking turned on by the thought, so he grasps the base of Steve’s cock and licks a clean stripe from the base to the tip.

Steve’s not expecting that, clearly, because he’s fucking _groaning_ , tangling his hair into Billy’s curls. “Oh Jesus… _Jesus,_ Billy.” Billy teases the head with little licks, trying to rile Steve up, but he very quickly gets fucking impatient as shit with that and opts to just swallow Steve’s cock to the base in one smooth movement. And now Steve is _shouting_ , and Billy looks up just in time to see Steve throwing his head back. The line of his throat arching back is so fucking beautiful that Billy kind of wants to cry. Or, maybe the tears are coming from the fact that he’s taken Steve’s cock all the way into his throat without easing into it. Oh well. Go big or go home.

He bobs his head slightly, fucking _loving_ the sounds coming from Steve, but he remembers what they are _supposed_ to be doing, what Steve said he wanted. So he pulls off with a wet pop, and immediately moves up the bed to kiss Steve open-mouthed and sloppy. Steve whimpers, clearly tasting himself in Billy’s mouth, and maybe that shouldn’t be such a fucking turn-on for Billy but it really is.

Steve pulls away and turns slightly, reaching out for his night-table drawer and rummaging through it blindly before he grabs what he wants and shoves them toward Billy. Lube and a condom. _Shit_.

“Do you know what to do?” Steve teases, a snarky grin on his face.

Billy shakes his head and chuckles, snatching the lube from Steve’s hand and pouring some onto his index and middle fingers. “Yeah, pretty boy, I think I can figure it out.”

Steve looks like he’s going to retort back, going to keep this teasing thing going on, but then the tip of Billy’s index finger is circling his hole and his jaw goes slack.

“You’ll tell me if hurts, right?” Billy questions seriously, and Steve furiously nods his head.

Billy figures that’s an okay to go, so he’s sliding his finger _inside_ of Steve and _Jesus_ , he’s so fucking hot and tight around his finger, and is that how it’s going to feel around his fucking cock? Maybe Billy’s not so confident about this after all.

Steve grimaces slightly, and Billy’s ready to pull his finger out, but Steve grabs his arm and shakes his head. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just weird.”

Billy nods and bites his bottom lip as he starts moving his finger in and out slowly, trying not to overwhelm his boyfriend. Steve starts enjoying it a little more, Billy thinks, because he’s still fucking hard as a rock and he’s sighing slightly as Billy slowly enters another finger.

And then Billy is brushing up against a little ridge inside and Steve fucking cries out, louder than he did when Billy swallowed his cock. “Oh fucking hell,” Steve gasps out. “What the hell was that?”

Billy furrows his eyebrows and shrugs. “I don’t know, princess, but I think I’m going to do that again.” And he curls his fingers to press against that ridge and Steve keeps fucking _moaning_ , throwing his head back and forth and clutching the bed sheets in his fingers.

“Please, baby,” Steve gasps out, looking up at him with those fucking gorgeous brown eyes, his cheeks flushed and his hair askew. “I want you to fuck me now.”

That sends fucking jolts down to Billy’s neglected cock and he’s pulling his fingers out slowly, before pushing his pants down and kind of awkwardly struggling to get them down. Steve looks like he’s getting fucking impatient as hell, and he’s already tearing open the condom wrapper as Billy finally gets his damn pants off. Billy reaches down to give his cock a couple of slow strokes, not that he really needs them; he’s as hard as a fucking rock. He rolls the condom down and kneels between Steve’s legs, lining his cock up with his entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and maybe his hands are shaking a little. Steve nods and pulls him down by the back of the neck for a slow, sweet kiss. As they kiss, Billy grabs the base of his cock and slowly pushes into Steve, and holy fucking _shit_.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Billy whines, head spinning. Steve looks absolutely fucking in awe as Billy slides in, slowly.

“Oh my God,” Steve breathes, staring up into his eyes. “Oh my _God_.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Billy breathes out, clutching at Steve’s hip.

“Move, baby; please fucking move,” Steve is begging, desperately, grabbing at Billy’s ass in a feeble attempt to get him to move. And how the fuck can Billy say no to _that_? He starts to thrust, slowly, and if this felt good when he was still, then he doesn’t even really know how to explain how _this_ feels.

Steve seems to agree, because his eyebrows are furrowing and his mouth is dropping open, and all he can let out are these overwhelmed, choked-out moans. Billy leans down to kiss him again, and they are both incapable of making it refined at all. They are both slack-jawed, overtaken by how fucking insane this is.

It’s pitiful, really, but Billy’s already feeling the curling in his gut that signals that he’s getting close. He changes his angle slightly, just trying to adjust to a more comfortable position, and that obviously makes his cock touch whatever that spot was inside of Steve that has him fucking gasping. And shit, are those _tears_ in Steve’s eyes?

“Right there, right fucking _there_ ,” Steve groans, clawing at Billy’s lower back with his nails. And it kind of hurts, but it also makes Billy moan, and he’s thrusting a little faster, a little harder now. He’s hitting that spot inside of Steve on every thrust, and Steve is a fucking mess beneath him.

Billy wants to make it even fucking better for Steve, so he reaches down and begins to stroke Steve’s cock in time with his thrusts and that sends Steve into a fucking _frenzy._ “Oh _Jesus,_ baby. That’s so fucking good,” Steve chokes out, and his voice sounds so fucking raw.

“You feel amazing, Steve. So fucking amazing around my cock.” Billy’s getting closer and closer to the edge, but he wants to – _needs_ to – see Steve finish first. “Are you going to cum? Are you going to cum around my cock, princess?”

And that’s it for Steve. He throws his head back and his mouth opens in a silent scream as he cums all over his own chest. He’s fucking _quivering_ through it, tightening around Billy, and the second it’s done Billy is leaning down to slam his mouth against Steve’s as he pushes his cock to the hilt and it’s fucking _over._ His head spins and his hands shake and he’s cumming; he’s coming so hard that he thinks he might pass out, and holy fucking _shit_ that’s more intense than any other orgasm he’s ever had in his entire life.

He collapses onto Steve, burying his face in Steve’s neck, and Steve leans down and presses a sweet kiss to his forehead.

He’s never really been too big on cuddling, but, right now, he just wants to fucking hold Steve in his arms all damn night.


	17. Black and Blue Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next couple of chapters didn't originally exist but I figured what the hell Billy and Steve are too happy  
> so uh.. sorry about that  
> Chapter title is Black and Blue Again by Dave Gahan, which is really not 80s at all but like... he's the lead singer of Depeche Mode so it's gotta count for something. It's a really really really good song though so please listen if you can  
> Enjoy!! Let me know if its horrible

“I’ve gotta go,” Billy murmurs into Steve’s shoulder the next morning, still blissed out from the night before.

“No,” Steve whines, turning around to face Billy. This is the first time that they’ve ever woken up together, the first time that Billy’s ever gotten to see Steve with sleep in his eyes, messy hair, and morning breath. And maybe that shouldn’t be so fucking endearing, but it is. “Don’t leave me.”

“I wish I didn’t have to, honey,” and _that’s_ a new pet-name; Billy doesn’t know where the fuck it comes from, why he says it, but the shy smile on Steve’s face makes him want to say it about a thousand more times.

“So _don’t,_ ” Steve insists, crowding into Billy’s space and pressing little kisses to his neck, his collar bone, his jaw – and Billy can’t fucking think, can’t fucking remember why he needs to go at all.

And then he’s capturing Steve’s lips in a kiss and rolling them over so he’s laying between Steve’s legs and fuck it – he doesn’t need to go anywhere.

* * *

 

After they share that, after Billy and Steve share that fucking _amazing_ night, Billy expects to see more of Steve. Billy expects to spend approximately a week in bed, doing _that_ over and over and over.

But when Steve literally drops off the fucking map, doesn’t show up to school the next day or the next or the _next_ , well, Billy feels like he might just fucking lose it.

The kids are M.I.A., too, always fucking rushing off to the Byers’ house. Max won’t even fucking take a ride there; she just rides her fucking skateboard. And, now that Billy thinks about it, neither Nancy nor Jonathan have been in school much either.

What the _fuck_ is going on?

Billy feels this dread, this fucking _terror_ , when it’s been a couple of days and he hasn’t seen or heard from Steve, and he’s barely fucking seen Max. What the fuck happened between the time that Steve and Billy had been saying goodbye after they went all the way, both of them tentative to fucking part for a second, and now?

Steve had seemed like he enjoyed it, hadn’t seemed upset about it afterwards. But could Billy have fucked it all up somehow? Did Billy do something fucking _wrong_ there?

Steve seemed so elated afterwards, rubbing Billy’s back gently and fucking calling him _baby_ over and over again, even goading him into doing it again in the morning, so how the hell could it be that he was upset with that?

By the fourth day, Billy almost feels resigned. He must have fucking done _something_ to make all the kids – including Max – and _Steve_ , his beautiful Steve, act like he doesn’t even exist for almost a week.

He goes through a whole fucking cycle of emotions as he goes through one and then two and then three and then _four_ days – running alone, eating alone, driving home alone, spending his nights _alone_. He’s worried, and then he’s angry, and then he’s fucking depressed, and then he’s worried _again_ , and now he’s fucking done. He’s just so fucking livid about the whole thing, so fucking frustrated, that he feels like fucking giving up.

So when Steve shows up on his doorstep on the fifth morning, ready for their run like it’s no big fucking deal, Billy feels, for the first time in a long damn time, like he wants to hit someone. Not Steve. But someone.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he demands, looking at Steve as coldly as he can fucking muster. As he looks at Steve’s hair and his fucking eyes and the open expression there, he feels everything rushing back to him - remembers how it felt to hold Steve down and fuck him, remembers how it felt to hold him all night afterwards, their sweaty bodies sticking together. He kind of wants to wrap his arms around Steve, wants to kiss him and hold him and fucking coddle the shit out of him - it’s been so long - but he remembers how it fucking felt to be ignored for four fucking days and he knows he’s got to stick to his guns here, can’t let Steve fucking get _away_ with this.

Steve frowns and kicks an imaginary pebble away. “Do you remember how I told you once that there’s been some shit that’s happened in Hawkins?”

“Yeah. So?” Billy asks coldly, crossing his arms.

“I told you I had been to hell and back. Well, I fucking had to go back.”

Billy furrows his eyebrows, and, needless to say, he’s fucking _confused_. “What the hell are you talking about, Harrington?” Steve looks at him like he’s fucking slapped him across the face. He hasn’t called him Harrington in a long fucking time.

“I can’t explain the specifics, Billy, but I had a job to do. A serious fucking job. _Everything_ was at stake.”

Billy scoffs and takes a step closer to Steve, and anger he hasn’t felt in such a long time is bubbling up. He knows he probably looks fucking _menacing_ , because Steve is subtly taking a step back from him. “You honestly think you can ignore me for four fucking days and then come here with that cryptic bullshit and that I’m just going to fucking _believe_ you?”

“Billy, I’m telling the _truth_. Something really big happened and I couldn’t fucking tell you. I couldn’t let you get dragged into this shit, too.”

“Are you cheating on me?” Billy asks, because that’s honestly all he thinks can explain Steve’s fucking behavior right now. Bile is crawling up into his throat and he can’t breathe.

“Jesus, baby, _no_ ,” Steve responds frantically, and he’s reaching out to touch Billy.

No. Billy can’t fucking let Steve touch him, because he’s going to fucking forgive him and let this all go and act like it’s totally okay that Steve fucking disappeared for four days without so much as a phone call. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Billy spits as he steps back, and the look on Steve’s face makes him want to throw up.

“Billy, I’m _serious_. There are things in this town, in this world, that you can’t even fucking believe, and they’re dangerous. And I had to fucking protect the kids, protect _you_.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Harrington,” Billy growls, shaking his head. “We’re supposed to be a fucking team, you know? We are supposed to trust each other. We are supposed to be _open_ with each other. So how do you expect me to fucking believe this bullshit?”

“It’s not bullshit, Billy. It’s _not_ bullshit. I just can’t tell you. I can’t let you get roped into this. I don’t know if you could take it.”

“Because I’m so fucking weak, right?” Billy sneers. “Too many daddy problems, too fucked up, can’t fucking handle something, huh?”

“No, _no,”_ the brunette asserts, and it kind of looks like Steve is panicking. _Good_ , Billy thinks. Now he can know what it fucking feels like. “I can’t tell you. I literally am _not_ supposed to tell you. I could be in really deep shit if I told you, and then you’d be in deep shit, too. It’s got nothing to do with what I think you can handle.”

“So this is the great King Steve in action, huh? This is the asshole that everyone was talking about.”

Steve grabs the front of Billy’s shirt and growls, “Shut up.” Billy feels hit stomach lurch because this distinctly feels like the beginning of a fucking fist fight, and _yeah,_ he’s mad, but he doesn’t want to _go_ there.

“No, really! All hail King Steve,” he starts, holding Steve’s eyes and grinning what he knows is a manic smile. “He managed to get back at his worst enemy by tricking him into thinking they were boyfriends or some shit.”

“Billy, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Steve insists, shaking his head and letting go of his grip on Billy’s collar, taking a step back.

“This whole thing was a joke to you, wasn’t it?”

“Billy, really, shut the _fuck_ up. You are going to regret saying this shit to me. I am telling you the truth.”

Billy’s had enough of this shit. Enough of these bold-faced _lies_. Steve’s got to be fucking regretting this whole thing between them, and instead of being man enough just to tell him, to fucking break it off, he’s making up this shit. It hurts; it hurts so fucking bad, because he wants to believe him. He wants to forgive him. He wants to fucking kiss Steve again and pretend like it’s all okay. But he knows, deep in his heart, that it’s _not_ okay. “Get out,” he says, trying to be calm.

“Billy, _please-_ ” and Steve looks so fucking wrecked, like he’s going to fucking cry, and Billy can’t stand to look at it anymore.

“Get out. Get out. Get out! _Get out!”_ and Billy is fucking _roaring_ , he’s shouting so fucking loud that he’s scaring himself, absolutely losing his shit, and Steve looks so fucking upset as Billy slams the door in his fucking face.

The second the door is closed, Billy fucking cries like a baby.


	18. Never Had No One Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this today. It was another one of those chapters that didn't exist before. I really loved writing it though.   
> Title is Never Had No One Ever by The Smiths.  
> Please enjoy!!

He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t hit anyone. He doesn’t yell or scream or cry or anything after that day. He just kind of sits around all the time. He’s numb.

He’s numb when he goes to school and sits in front of Liz for an hour and just doesn’t _say_ anything.

He’s numb when Dustin, Mike, and Lucas show up to confront him during his morning run, begging him to forgive Steve.

He’s numb because if he lets himself fucking feel anything right now then he’s going to go off the handle, and he’s going to fucking do something he regrets. And he _can’t_ let himself do that. He can’t fucking go back to being a shitty person just because of a boy.

But he knows, knows deep down that Steve isn’t just a boy. Steve is everything he’s ever fucking wanted in this world, wrapped up neatly in a handsome package, and he’s just fucking disgusted with the fact that, clearly, he’s not everything that _Steve’s_ ever wanted. Cause if he was, then Steve wouldn’t have fucking disappeared on him like that after they fucking had _sex_ for the first time and then lied about it.

It’s Sunday now, and he’s just been lying in bed all fucking day, on his side with the covers pulled up over his head. If his dad were still here he’d have fucking barged in the room and forced him to get out of bed by now. Max and Susan have tried, sure, but it’s not like he’s going to fucking respond to them. He doesn’t want to get out of bed, doesn’t feel the _need_ to get out of bed. There’s nothing worth getting out of bed for, not today.

Max taps at his door and he just doesn’t respond to her. She’s carrying a little tray with a sandwich and an apple on it, and he appreciates that but he feels like if he eats anything right now he will just throw it all up.

The red-head sits on the side of his bed. “Jesus, Billy,” she says, her little nose curling up. “When’s the last time you took a shower? It smells like a locker room in here.”

Billy knows she’s right; he hasn't showered since Thursday night and he can fucking smell it on himself, knows that he’s being fucking gross right now. He’s always been really obsessive about grooming himself so he knows it’s troubling Max to see him just kind of lying around in his own filth. He doesn't have the energy to explain himself, so he just rolls over to his other side and groans, “Go away.”

He can practically hear Max rolling her eyes. “Billy, this is ridiculous. You need to let Steve explain to you.”

“Steve’s a fucking liar.”

Max huffs behind him. “You have also got to get your head out of your ass. He’s not a liar. I was literally there when all this was happening.”

“And you and the rest of your little friends are just covering for him.”

“Oh my God, Billy,” Max exclaims, getting off the bed. Billy feels the mattress pop up a little without her weight. “You are insane. You need to realize that the entire world is _not_ out to get you, here. Steve is a mess without you.”

 _Good._ Billy’s glad he’s not the only one who feels like this. But he kind of doubts that Steve cares much. Billy’s kind of a burden on him anyway, always has been. He feels like a burden on everyone right now, just lying here in bed and refusing to be a functioning person. He promises himself he’ll get back up when it’s time to go to school and he’ll keep running, just like he was a couple of days ago. But when the weekend came and he had nothing to do, _this_ is what happened.

“Cmon, Billy,” Max says, moving forward and trying to yank the blankets off of him.

And that kind of pisses him off, probably more than it fucking should – but everything hurts right now and he can’t help it. So he fucking roars, “Don’t fucking touch me!” and it’s so goddamn _mean_. He knows he’s being an asshole, was so _afraid_ of this happening, and now it is.

Max pulls away. “I’m not going to take that personally, because I know you are in a lot of pain right now. But I am getting really sick of this act. Steve didn’t do anything to you, and here you are acting like he cheated on you or broke up with you or something. Newsflash, Billy: _you’re_ the one who slammed the door in his face. Not the other way around.”

* * *

 

_He’s having this fucking dream again. He thought the nightmares were chased away._

_He’s running, running as fast as he fucking can, through the darkness and the fog and the haze in his mind. He’s got no idea where he is, what it is that he’s running from, but he can’t stop fucking high-tailing it toward the darkness in front of him. Anything’s better than whatever is behind him. And then it’s happening again, just like it did before – his feet are going off a ledge and he’s going to fucking_ fall _. He grasps on weakly to the side of the cliff._

_He doesn’t shout for help. He doesn’t try to pull himself up. He just dangles there, supporting his weight on the tips of his fingers, knowing that they are going to slide right off and he’s going to fall. He doesn’t care anymore._

_And then, sure enough, there’s a hand, and then a face coming into view, and it’s Steve. But Steve isn’t smiling sadistically at him; no, he’s_ concerned _. His face is open and terrified as he reaches out for Billy and begs, “Billy, take my hand.”_

_Billy makes eye-contact with him, holds his gaze there. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t respond._

_“Please, baby,_ please,” _Steve keeps begging, tears in his eyes as he holds out his hand. “Please grab on. Please let me help you.”_

_Billy lets go._

* * *

 

He wakes up with a startled gasp and sure enough, there are tears running down his cheeks. He pinches the bridge of his nose and rolls over to look at the clock, and it’s 3:30 in the morning. He can’t believe the dream he just had, can’t believe he’s even betraying himself in his fucking dreams. This is yet another pitiful moments where Billy knows that he needs to give Steve a break, but he can't swallow his pride and just do it. 

He tries to fall back asleep. He lays on his back, he lays on his side, he lays on his stomach – which is a fucking bust.

And then he can’t fucking help himself, but he’s ghosting his fingers down and reaching down into his pants, coaxing himself into hardness and thinking about _Steve_.

It doesn’t even feel good. He’s basically forcing himself to get hard, forcing himself toward an orgasm, thinking about Steve the entire fucking time. And they aren’t sexy thoughts; no, they are sad, heart-breaking thoughts about how Billy is a fucking idiot, but he just can’t bring himself to believe Steve. He just can’t bring himself to buy into this shit without an explanation.

He doesn’t know when it happened but he’s crying now, crying fat tears of mortification and sadness as he pumps his protesting cock in his pajama pants. When he cum it feels like a punch in the gut – in a bad way – and he lets out a sob of distress, and then he’s curling up into the fetal position and crying his fucking eyes out, because since when did he get so fucking pathetic?

He knows he needs to get the fuck over himself and let Steve explain himself, but he’s so goddamn terrified about what he might find out. What if Steve really _is_ lying to him, really _was_ playing him this whole time? Does he _want_ to know?

As he’s lying in his bed, cum on his hands and tears in his eyes, he decides that _no_ , he doesn’t want to know.


	19. Golden Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some people wanted me to draw out the angst, but others really did not, so here is a chapter.   
> Title is Golden Brown by The Stranglers.

Thankfully, he keeps good on his promise and as soon as the weekend is done he gets up, goes for a run, takes a shower, and goes to school. He kind of regrets it – his school day is filled with avoiding Steve and getting glares thrown at him by Nancy all day. Steve’s back to sitting with her and Jonathan; he doesn’t look happy, sitting there and staring at his food. It shouldn’t satisfy Billy to know that Steve isn’t happy either, but it does. It really fucking does. Nancy catches him looking at them during lunch and actually gets up to confront him, but he quickly packs his shit up and leaves the cafeteria before she can get to him.

Now, it’s Tuesday afternoon and he’s sitting at the kitchen table eating a fruit roll-up – goddamn Harrington – dazedly. There’s a knock on the door and he wonders which one of the kids is here to try to get him to talk to Steve.

With a sigh, he pushes himself up and out of the chair and walks to the front door. When he opens it, there’s a skinny girl with brown eyes and short curly brown hair at his doorstep, and she’s staring at him _very_ intensely.

“Are you, uh, here for Max?” he asks tentatively, a little intimidated by this tiny girl wearing a plaid shirt about 4 sizes too big for her. He doesn’t know why he’s intimidated, but something deep in his gut tells him to fucking make a run for it.

“Are you Billy?” she asks, and there’s this weird quality about her voice that makes it seem like every word she speaks is the first word she’s ever said. It’s fucking unnerving, and maybe Billy’s getting a little nervous.

Maybe he’s starting to believe Steve a little bit now. Something weird is fucking going on with this girl.

“Uh, yeah,” he responds, taking a step back. She doesn’t move.

“You should forgive Steve. He wasn’t lying. Friends _don’t_ lie.”

What the fuck? Is this a prank? “Yeah, sometimes they do, kid. And Steve’s not my friend.”

“No, Steve is your Mike,” she says, like that’s a perfectly fucking normal thing to say. Billy cocks his head at her, and he honestly doesn’t know how to fucking respond to that. “Steve wasn’t lying. Friends don’t lie.”

“Yeah, you, uh, you said that already.” Billy’s about to grab the door and close it in this creepy girl’s face, but his arm fucking _stops_ in mid-air. And it feels like someone is grabbing it, holding it there with all their strength, and Billy squints at his arm, fucking stuck there, reaching for the door, trying to figure out what the fuck is happening right now. How the fuck could this be happening right now? He can’t fucking move his arm no matter how hard he tries, and he begins to panic.

His head snaps toward the girl and she’s staring him down, and somehow he knows, then; he knows that _she’s_ the one doing this. She’s the one holding his fucking arm there. “You’re doing this,” he says in disbelief, and the second he says it her face relaxes and it’s like the hold on his arm is suddenly fucking gone. It drops to his side with a thud. “How the _hell_ did you do that?”

And then suddenly Steve’s car is flying down the road and into his driveway, and he and the rest of the kids are getting out of the car and racing toward Billy and this tiny little girl who may or may not have just fucking held his arm in the air with her fucking mind.

“Eleven!” Mike shouts, running toward her and hugging her tightly. A little smile appears on her face and _shit_ , she’s almost cute now. Billy’s head is spinning. “What are you doing here? We were worried.”

“Steve was sad,” this girl – Eleven? – says, still smiling that tiny little smile. “I wanted to make him happy.”

Billy gets his first good look at Steve then. He’s got bags under his eyes and his clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is fucking limp, like someone sucked the fucking life out of it. The guilt rushes to Billy so suddenly he’s overwhelmed with it. _He’s been hurting Steve just as much as he’s been hurting himself._

They make eye-contact and Steve looks so fucking hopeful as he asks, “Did she do anything to you?”

Billy nods in disbelief and chokes out, “I think she just held my arm captive with her mind for a second there.”

Dustin snorts. “Yeah, she does that sometimes. You get used to it.”

Woah, woah, _woah_ – this is too fucking much for Billy to process. He questions, meekly, “You weren’t lying, Steve?”

And then, in fucking unison like the twins from _The Shining_ or some shit, Dustin, Lucas, Mike, _and_ Eleven - or whatever her name is - all turn to him and say, “Friends don’t lie.”

Steve steps forward and asks, so fucking earnest and hopeful, “Do you believe me now?”

And _yes_ , against his better judgement, Billy _does_ believe him, because what just happened can’t be fucking possible, and he honestly doesn’t want an explanation, doesn’t want to know what is going on under the surface in this town. He’s so fucking grateful that Steve tried to keep this from him, tried to protect him from _this_ , and _so_ fucking relieved that he doesn’t have to keep up this fucking pity-party for one he’s been throwing for the past week. He rushes forward and grabs Steve, wrapping his arms around him tightly and burying his face in Steve’s shoulder, and Steve hugs him back so fucking fiercely.

“I’m so sorry,” Billy whispers, squeezing Steve with all his might. “I’m so fucking sorry, honey.”

Billy doesn’t even care that they’re outside, doesn’t care that these kids are here to witness it, he just needs to fucking kiss Steve again, so he _does_. He catches Steve’s lips between his and Steve melts into it instantly, reaching a hand up to hold the side of Billy’s face. Billy’s so fucking happy and relieved he could cry.

Steve finally pulls away and asks, “Do you want me to explain everything?”

Billy shakes his head furiously. “No fucking way, Steve. I honestly do _not_ want to know.”

Steve’s laughter at that makes all the pain in his heart go away and it feels like they never were away from each other. All Billy knows is that he trusts Steve more than ever now, trusts him so fucking fiercely that it’s honestly a little overwhelming. Maybe he should be a little more nervous about whatever weird shit is going on around here, but he honestly can’t muster up enough energy to even give a shit about it. So much shit has happened to him in his life, so much real, _human_ pain and drama, that he doesn’t even give a fuck if there’s some non-human shit out there, too.

All he fucking needs is Steve. And he has him again.

(Later, away from the kids and the outside world and all the fucking weird shit out there, Billy apologizes to Steve again by worshipping his body with his mouth. His lips are stretched around Steve’s cock, and his jaw is hurting, but the noises that Steve makes - feeling Steve’s hands tangle in his hair - makes it all fucking worth it.)


	20. Gone Daddy Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a time skip, because with this chapter we start winding down. I consider this chapter and the next three one long epilogue. If I keep doing conflict after conflict or fluff after fluff, the story will become rather trite. So we are in the home stretch y'all.  
> Chapter title is Gone Daddy Gone by Violent Femmes.

Time passes very quickly, after that. It takes a little while to get back to where they were, to build up the trust again, but now that it’s been rebuilt it feels so much fucking stronger. Billy wants to hold on tight to Steve and won’t let anything – especially his own dumb anxiety – ruin it.

Billy notices a slight change, at first, in Steve since that fucking week that they weren’t a thing, knows that Steve’s a little bit traumatized by whatever the fuck it is that happened when he went to hell, as he calls it. Steve has some nightmares, and Billy wonders if this is what it felt like for Steve in those first weeks when they started being friends, when he needed so much support. It’s almost nice, to be able to give that support right fucking back, but it also fucking hurts to see Steve in such a weak position.

Billy lets him explain a little, with no fucking specifics - because he does _not_ want to know - and then he finds out that there was a very fucking real possibility that Steve could have fucking _died_ doing whatever it was that he and the kids were doing, and that scares the shit out of him. The sex after learning about that is frantic.

But as time goes on, and as the end of March turns to April turns to May, Steve is doing much, much better, is basically his same old self again. Billy’s relieved as hell about it, and he feels _proud_ that he’s been able to help him through this whole thing. Liz is proud of him too.

Their relationship is better, too, better than it had ever been before that fucking ordeal. And maybe it’s not a _good_ thing that it happened, but Billy can’t deny that he feels closer to Steve than he ever has before, because he knows now that he can’t really function without him. He mentions that to Steve, one night in the dark, and Steve doesn’t say anything; he just clutches Billy a little tighter to his chest.

And then, suddenly, they are fucking _graduating_. They’ve talked it through, decided that college isn’t a great idea for either of them, and that they’re just going to try their hand at getting jobs or whatever and they’re going to make it through, even if they have to live in a fucking shitty one room apartment.

But not before they have a good fucking summer together, a summer partially spent in _California_. It was Steve’s idea – he had begged Billy to take him to his hometown, and, at first, Billy wasn’t sure, but then he figured, what the fuck?

So a road-trip to California is a fucking thing that’s going to happen. But not before they walk across the stage and get their fucking _diplomas_.

* * *

 

After the graduation ceremony, Max and Susan are directing them, forcing them to stand close and smile as they take their picture with a Polaroid camera. As they wait for the little picture to develop, Billy says hello to Steve’s parents. Shockingly, he’s actually met them a few times before, managed to catch them in the two seconds they are actually home. Billy doesn’t really care for them, doesn’t trust their fake-ass smiles, _and_ he’s convinced that Steve’s mom fucking knows they’re together.

The picture develops and Steve and Billy share a smile about it. They are standing so close together, Billy’s arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, both in their caps and gowns. And if you didn’t know what to look for, you’d just think it was a picture of two friends sharing a moment of happiness on their graduation day. But if you look a little closer, examine their smiles a little more, it’s plain to see that they’re in love.

Not that they’ve said that to each other yet. But Billy _feels_ it.

He’s so caught up in the smiles and the celebration, standing there in the school parking lot after the ceremony, that he doesn’t even notice Susan’s face fall. Steve mutters under his breath and whispers into Billy’s ear, “Look who’s here.”

And Billy turns around, and there’s _Neil_ , standing there with his hands in his pockets and a grim expression on his face. Billy can honestly say that he doesn’t fucking feel a thing about this, not anymore. If Steve can fucking handle hell itself, then Billy can handle talking to his prick of a father.

Billy gives Steve a small smile and then walks over to his dad, a cool, calm expression on his face.

“Well, my son is graduating, and no one thought to invite me.”

Billy scoffs. “Yeah, sorry about that. Only 2 tickets per person, decided to give them to my sister and my step-mom.”

Neil looks a little bit surprised at that, but he doesn’t let it show for very long. “You’re still with that boy, I see.”

“Yup.”

“I guess the slashed tires didn’t get the message across.”

Billy wants to punch him in the face. He really, really, _really,_ wants to punch him in the fucking face. “I want to punch you in the face right now,” he says, with a huff. “But I’m not going to. See, you’re a fucking coward, Neil. You are a prick and you are a loser. And I don’t know who it is that fucking hurt you so bad that you needed to hurt _me_ for so long, but I want you to know that it ends with me. I’m happy, and I’m good now, and I don’t need to punch you to show you that I’m done with you. I’m just going to walk away.” And then he turns and _starts_ to walk away, but then he remembers something _really_ important that he needs to say. “By the way, Neil,” he starts, and he feels so fucking _confident_ up against his dad for once in his fucking life. “Sign the divorce papers, already. Susan deserves at least that.”

* * *

 

Later, after the fanfare and the congratulations and the fucking surprise graduation party, Steve and Billy celebrate on their own.

Steve’s thighs are splayed across Billy’s hips, and he’s riding him. They’ve been going at it for such a long time; it feels like it’s been fucking hours of Steve on top of him, bouncing up and down on his cock.

It’s several hours well spent.

They are both drenched in sweat, and Steve’s hair is matted to his forehead. He’s bracing himself with his hands on Billy’s chest, moving his hips, throwing his head back at the feel of Billy inside him.

Eventually, it becomes too much, too fucking much to keep holding on like this, and they’re cumming – together – and Steve is falling on top of Billy, panting like he’s run a fucking marathon.

“That was so fucking good, baby,” he croons, nuzzling his face in Billy’s neck and Billy thinks that _good_ is an understatement.

“Congratulations on your diploma, Mr. Harrington,” he quips, kissing the top of Steve’s head.

Steve snores in response. _Cute_.


	21. Hold Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is Hold Me by Fleetwood Mac.   
> Hope you enjoy!

 “And you’re going to call us the second you get to California, do you hear me?” Max is questioning, a hand on her hip. Billy smiles fondly as Steve shoves his suitcase in the backseat of the Camaro, sunglasses and fucking _shorts_ on, showing his long fucking legs in all their glory. God bless America.

“Yeah, kid, I hear you,” he responds, wrapping Max up in a hug.

“I’m still mad you aren’t taking me back to California with you,” she teases as she pulls away from the hug. “But I guess I don’t want to infringe on your personal time with Steve or whatever.”

Billy just shakes his head and Susan comes rushing out of the house holding Billy’s wallet in her palm. “You forgot this!” she shouts, shoving the wallet into Billy’s hands.

“Oh, thanks, Susan. You’re a lifesaver,” he gives her a hug too, and he’s proud of himself for how fucking comfortable it is. He remembers a time when he couldn’t fucking stand this sweet woman, blew up if someone mistakenly called her his mother. Sure, he still doesn’t call her mom or anything, but she’s as close to his mom as anyone on this earth is going to get.

“I slipped a couple of bills in there. For spending money,” Susan says with a wink, and Billy feels a little choked up.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Consider it a graduation present. I’m so proud of you, Billy. You’ve truly become such a good man, such a better man than your father will ever be.” Billy hugs her again, can’t fucking help himself, and she rubs his back delicately. “Now, go,” she laughs, pulling away. “California awaits.”

Billy nods and starts walking to the car, but not before giving Max _another_ hug goodbye.

Steve is already waiting in the car, sunglasses still on his face, his seat pushed all the way back and his long legs propped up on the dashboard.

Billy gets into the driver seat, turns and waves at Susan and Max, and then starts the car and flies off toward California.

“Steve,” he says, once they’re on the road and he’s lit a cigarette. “Get your feet off my dash, honey.”

* * *

 

There are approximately 2100 miles stretching between Hawkins, Indiana, and Manhattan Beach, California. That’s a 31 hour drive _without_ stops, so, needless to say, it’s a long fucking drive. But Billy’s made this trip once before – back when things were so fucking different – and he survived, so he thinks he can survive this trip, especially with Steve Harrington at his side.

He’s a little worried for Steve’s sanity, though. He’s so fucking restless, not so good at fucking car trips, apparently.

“Why didn’t you bring a book or something?” Billy asks when they are somewhere in Oklahoma. They’ve been driving for quite a while - 11  _fucking_ hours -  but they’ve still got quite a while to go, and Billy is honest to God afraid that Steve is going to have a mental breakdown.

“I didn’t think it’d be this bad,” Steve says, sighing.

“Wow, thanks,” Billy responds with an eyeroll. “Glad my company is helpful here.”

“This is torture,” Steve asserts, turning in his seat to look at Billy’s profile. “Miles and miles having to look at you, fucking sexy as hell in the driver’s seat, and I can’t fucking touch you.”

Billy pulls the car over at the next rest stop, and yeah, maybe it’s fucking tacky to give your boyfriend a blowjob in the middle of fucking Oklahoma but Billy has a fucking mullet, so maybe the tacky ship has sailed.

* * *

 

A couple more stops later, to eat or to nap or to switch places – which Billy is a little nervous about; he doesn’t usually let _anyone_ drive his car – they finally make it to Manhattan Beach.

“So, where to first?” Steve asks, clearly fucking excited at the prospect of finally being in Billy’s hometown. It makes Billy smile, but he’s kind of nervous about what he’s got planned first.

“You’re going to meet my mom.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and he exclaims, “I’m not dressed well enough to meet your mom!”

Billy smiles sadly and responds, “I don’t think it’ll be an issue,” and he’s turning and driving into the cemetery. Steve notices then where they are, and he gets all quiet and it’s a little _too_ sad for Billy, really.

“It’s okay, Steve,” he reaches for Steve’s hand as he reassures him. “I’m okay.”

They drive to where his mom is buried, a small plot in the corner of the cemetery in a quiet, shady spot. They both get out of the car, and Billy feels a little bit nervous, because he knows what Steve’s going to say the second he sees the gravestone.

He squats in front of it, wiping some dirt off the corner of the headstone. “Hey, momma. Sorry I don’t have any flowers for you. We just drove a _really_ long way.”

Steve’s kind of standing back, hands in his short pockets. He’s pushed his sunglasses up so they are resting on his head. “Come here,” Billy smiles and gestures for Steve to come closer, and Steve looks a little tentative but then he’s squatting beside Billy. “Mom, this is my boyfriend Steve. He’s handsome, huh?”

_Clara Hargrove – Loving Wife and Mother_

_July 12 th, 1945 – February 25th, 1977_

“February 25th,” Steve mutters pensively. “I know that date. Where do I know that date?” Billy keeps his mouth shut, lets Steve figure that one out all on his own. Then it dawns on him, and a hand is flying up to press over his mouth. “Billy, she passed away on your birthday?”

Billy nods and gives Steve a sad smile. “Yup. I turned 10.”

Steve just puts an arm around him and gives him a soft kiss on his temple. Billy’s eyes get a little misty, and, for once, he doesn’t feel sorry about it.

* * *

 

Later that day, once the mood has improved a little, Billy takes Steve to see the ocean for the first time. He expects Steve to be really fucking impressed with it – Manhattan Beach has one of the best fucking views of the ocean in the entire country – but all Steve does is put his hands on his hips and says, “Kind of looks like Lake Michigan.”

“Lake Michigan… Are you fucking serious?” Billy asks, dumbfounded. “You _cannot_ compare the fucking Pacific Ocean to Lake Michigan. They are not comparable.”

Steve shakes his head. “Uh, they look the same to me.” But then he’s turning toward Billy with this shit-eating grin and Billy knows that he’s bullshitting him, as fucking usual.

“I’m going to fucking throw you in the ocean, Steve.”


	22. Somebody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last chapter guys!! I know I usually post twice a day but I will be posting the last chapter later tonight, as it is v short. I really liked writing this chapter.   
> Title is Somebody by Depeche Mode.

They book a shitty fucking motel room, because they don’t want to spend the money it would take to get a good one, and Billy  _really_ doesn’t care. As long as he’s with Steve, it doesn’t fucking matter to him.

The second that Billy is opening the door to the room and stepping in, Steve is kissing him and pushing him toward the bathroom. “We’re going to take a shower together,” he demands, and really, does he think Billy is going to fucking argue with _that_? This is something he’s wanted to do for a long fucking time, but it’s always been a little too risky.

But here, in some shitty no-name motel in California, they are going to fucking take a shower together.

The second they get under the spray of the water it occurs to Billy that he kind of wants to try something new. He feels kind of emotionally vulnerable, after visiting his mom and all, and he can’t explain it but he wants to – _needs_ to - be taken care of right now. He wants to finally let Steve be the one on top.

It’s something they’ve mentioned before, but Billy’s always been kind of nervous about it. But now he thinks he’s ready.

He kisses Steve under the shower head, holding either side of his face in his palms. “I want you to fuck me,” he murmurs into it, and Steve growls at that, pushing him against the wall of the shower. Steve starts trailing kisses down his neck, and maybe Billy should have let him do this is a long fucking time ago.

* * *

 

Once they are out of the shower and dry, they move to the bed, not bothering to put clothes on only to take them off again. They’re kissing slowly and softly, and Billy’s heart is fucking hammering in his chest. He wants this, wants this so fucking _bad_ , but he’s also a little terrified of it.

Having Steve on top of him, though, his legs wrapped around Steve’s hips, is probably one of the hottest things that he’s ever experienced in his entire damn life.

“Are you nervous?” Steve murmurs, pressing delicate kisses down Billy’s jaw and to his neck.

Billy takes in a deep breath and replies, softly, “A little. But I want this.”

“Thank God,” Steve says with a laugh, resting his head on Billy’s bare chest and pressing a gentle kiss to his sternum. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard before in my entire life.” Billy wonders how something so playful can be so fucking _hot_ , wonders how it is that Steve manages to be a total goofball but also a fucking Casanova at the exact same time.

Steve’s touching him so fucking tenderly, so gently, that it makes Billy feel so vulnerable and small, and it’s relieving, almost, to open up like this. Slick fingers press against Billy’s entrance, and Steve is kissing him as he pushes them in, slowly and delicately.

It’s fucking _good_. Yeah, there’s a slight stretch, a slight burn, but it feels so fucking good at the same time. He can tell that Steve is searching, searching for that place inside of him, and the second he touches it Billy sees stars in his vision and he’s gasping. _This_ is what it feels like? This is what Steve’s been feeling this whole time?

“Steve,” he murmurs, and then the brunette is kissing him again, scissoring his fingers slightly, stretching him open. And it feels a little foreign, feels a little _strange_ , but Billy wants it. He wants it so fucking bad, wants anything and everything that Steve could possibly give him. He tries to voice it, tries to say something sexy, something that will turn Steve on, but all he can do is breathe out Steve’s name again.

Steve gets the hint, because he’s reaching for a condom and rolling it on, and Billy watches him with admiration. He’s kneeling on the bed between Billy’s legs, cock in his hand and head-tipped back, sighing slightly. He’s so fucking _beautiful_.

“C’mon, Steve,” Billy breathes, and he meant for it to be a little less desperate and a little more playful.

Steve bites his bottom lip and moves forward, pressing the head of his dick against Billy’s entrance, rubbing Billy’s hip soothingly. “Are you ready, baby?” he asks, and it’s so fucking gentle and sweet. Billy pulls Steve down for a kiss.

“Okay,” he whispers against Steve’s lips, and then Steve is slowly easing his cock into him, and it _hurts_ , is definitely more of a stretch than the fingers were. But seeing that look on Steve’s face, that overwhelmed fucking look, makes it start to feel better, makes it so fucking _enjoyable._

They’re quiet, quieter than they’ve ever been during this. They hold eye contact, foreheads pressed together as Steve slowly thrusts in and out of him. They sigh and they quake and they tumble together, and it feels a lot like fucking _love_ personified. Steve grasps at Billy’s hand, tangling their fingers together, and Billy’s eyes are filling with tears, and maybe that’s fucking pathetic, but it feels so good to have Steve inside of him, feels so fucking _good_ to be pressed up against him like this.

Billy’s starting to get close without his cock even being touched, but it doesn’t feel like other orgasms have in the past. Usually it’s fucking violent, but this is so gentle, so fucking _soft_. Steve’s gasping as he continues to thrust, his dick dragging inside of Billy so fucking _slowly_ , and _Jesus_ , Billy’s going to cum just like this.

“I’m getting close, Steve,” he whispers, and here’s when they’d usually speed up in a frantic race toward completion, but Steve just keeps his gentle pace, keeps staring so deeply into Billy’s eyes. Up close like this, he can examine the depth of Steve’s eyes, the slight gold flecks in a sea of brown, and his past, his present, his _future_ is Steve.

Steve’s still thrusting so slowly, so fucking gently, when he gasps, “I’m close, too. This feels amazing. I feel like you’re a part of me, Billy.”

And that fucking does it. Billy’s cumming, but it doesn’t feel like he’s being pushed into it, doesn’t feel like his entire fucking body is under attack by it. No, it feels more like a caress, more like a wave washing over him, and all he can do is gasp through it, never breaking his eye contact with _Steve._

Steve’s gasping too, and stilling, and clearly trying so fucking hard not to close his eyes and break the eye contact. When it’s done, he captures Billy in a kiss, and Billy can’t fucking breathe. Steve pulls away and smiles, so fucking _beautifully,_ and then he’s getting rid of the condom and turning out the light.

He delicately positions Billy so they’re on their sides, Steve’s skinny arm wrapped tightly around Billy’s waist and his head resting behind Billy’s shoulder. Billy feels a gentle kiss pressed onto the bare skin there, and then he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, lets sleep overtake him.


	23. Head Over Heels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. It's been a wild ride.   
> This chapter is Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears.   
> I decided to make a playlist of all the songs I used as inspiration. You can listen here: http://hypster.com/playlists/userid/5442370?7254000

Billy and Steve are driving on the highway with the windows rolled down, somewhere between L.A. and San Diego. Billy’s got a tiny bud of a cigarette left in his mouth. The radio’s on in the background, and when it switches to that damn Tears for Fears song with the piano in the beginning, Billy tosses the cigarette butt out of the open window and moves to change the station.

“No!” Steve shouts, batting his hand away. Billy raises an eyebrow and licks his lips, glancing at Steve before looking back at the road. “I love this song. Let me listen to it.”

Billy shakes his head but he turns the volume up to almost max. _Anything for Steve._

Steve’s jamming out, pretending to play the drums as the beat leads up to the verse, and then he’s singing, fucking off-key and ridiculous, “ _I wanted to be with you alone… And talk about the weather_.”

And as Steve gives his little performance, Billy thinks. He drives and he thinks about everything that’s happened these past months, thinks about the fact that this time last year he was still so angry at the fucking world, still so bitter about everything. But he’s not angry at life anymore; he’s happy about it now, fucking _loves_ living now. And it’s thanks to the goofy asshole in his passenger seat singing at the top of his lungs, and it’s thanks to his little sister and all her nerdy friends, and it’s thanks to his step-mom, and it’s thanks to Liz and her eyes that remind him too much of his mother’s.

And there are still times that he strays, still times that he feels like maybe he’s not done growing up. Times when he gets frustrated and wants to punch something, times when he wants to give up.

But then he breathes, and he thinks, and he doesn’t punch anything. That’s a fucking feat.

His whole world has been flipped upside down since that day in January when his dad beat him to a pulp, has been changed for the better in so many ways. He’s got a whole group of punk-ass kids for friends, even the little one who’s definitely got superpowers but Billy really doesn’t want to know about it. He’s got a fucking step-mom who he actually loves, who doesn’t hit him and tells him she’s proud of him. And he’s got a _boyfriend_ – a fucking _boyfriend_ – and it’s Steve, of all people. Someone who he once thought was his worst fucking enemy, someone who he was so viciously jealous of, so desperate to knock down a few pegs.

It’s kind of weird, to be grateful for almost dying at the hands of his own father, but if it weren’t for that happening then, in front of Max, he doesn’t know where he’d be right now. He sure as hell wouldn’t be in a car with Steve Harrington, feeling a fucking affectionate smile spreading on his face as he gets to the fucking chorus of a song that Billy doesn’t even like.

“ _Something happens and I’m head over heels. I never find out till I’m head over heels,”_ Steve sings – or screams - depending on your opinion - reaching over to hold Billy’s hand as he rises to an admittedly poor falsetto. Billy thinks it sounds fucking beautiful, all things considered.

And then he’s shouting for the first fucking time, trying to be heard over the music, “I love you!”

Steve stops singing and cocks his head. “What?” he screams back over the song.

Billy doesn’t bother to turn it down. He just yells louder. “I love you so fucking much!”

The smile that Steve gives in return is dazzling.

 

**_The End_ **


End file.
